In Another Life XI
by Christine M. Greenleaf
Summary: Yet another in this series for the many people who've requested it :-) This time, Jack Napier, a petty criminal and con man, meets successful and attractive Dr. Harleen Quinzel, and determines to make her smile again.
1. Chapter 1

**In Another Life XI**

Gotham City was not a good place to be poor. It actually wasn't a good place for any socio-economic bracket to live – those better off were in constant danger of being mugged, robbed, or murdered by the numerous criminals the city created with its seedy and desperate underbelly. Violence, gangs, drugs, gambling, prostitution – every vice and more could be found in the cocktail of criminality that was Gotham City. It was a hellhole if ever there was one.

But it was home, thought Jack Napier, puffing on a cigarette as he loitered on the drizzly pavement outside a liquor store. And it wasn't like he had anywhere else to go even if he wanted to leave, or any means of doing so. He felt the rain trickling through the numerous holes in his shoes and clothing, and cursed himself for choosing to gamble the last time he had any money, rather than invest in new clothes. He'd never learn, he thought, tapping out his cigarette. Jack was not a practical man – he was a man who believed he was just a dice roll or a card hand away from striking it rich. He could see himself now, going from rags to riches, in a new three-piece suit surrounded by beautiful, wealthy women in expensive jewelry, being chauffeured around the streets of this city in fancy cars, like he saw people like Bruce Wayne doing.

Unfortunately those visions never came true, no matter how much Jack gambled. He always ended up right back where he started, in the gutter, committing petty crimes to survive. But he couldn't let go of that vision and face reality – crazy, maybe. But it's what got him through the day, and through his miserable existence of a life. Jack was an eternal optimist, and a bit of charmer, if he said so himself. When he wasn't stealing or pick-pocketing, he was a very successful con man, since he had an open, friendly demeanor and a ready smile that people seemed to trust fairly easily. He had committed numerous scams, including his latest, conning five-thousand dollars out of Salvatore Valestra, one of the richest gang lords in Gotham.

Jack had heard it through the grapevine that Sal was a sucker for goats – they reminded him of his boyhood on his father's farm in Sicily. So Jack had gone to see Sal and told him he was looking to establish a goat farm just outside of Gotham, and asked him if he wanted to invest. Jack had promised to pay him back when the goats started producing milk and cheese, and Sal had given him the money. Which Jack had promptly spent in the Joker's Wild casino, and lost everything. Story of his life, really, but what was the point in living without taking a few risks?

Like now, he thought, as he saw the cashier in the liquor store come out from behind the counter to help a customer. Jack swiftly snuck inside, hurrying over to the counter and lifting a few packets of cigarettes from behind it. He pocketed these into his overcoat, and then perused the shelves for a few minutes so as not to attract suspicion.

"Nasty weather we're having today," he commented, as the cashier returned.

"I'll say," he agreed. "But what else can you expect from this dump of a town? Never a dry day."

"Lucky for you, selling liquor and all!" chuckled Jack.

The cashier laughed. "Hey, nice joke!" he said. "You're a funny guy!"

"Well, I try," said Jack, smiling as he tipped his hat. "Have a nice day," he said, heading out the door.

He whistled as he headed off down the street, hands in his pockets, feeling the stolen goods and smiling. "God, you're good at what you do, Jack Napier," he told himself, lighting up another cigarette.

He passed an alley and was suddenly seized by two men, who dragged him into the shadows. "Morning, Jack," said one, smiling unpleasantly.

"Buzz!" exclaimed Jack, beaming, although he recognized with dread one of Sal Valestra's enforcers, Buzz Bronski. "How ya doing, buddy?"

"Oh, I'm just swell, Jack," said Buzz. "And you? How's the goat farm coming along?"

"Oh, it's…uh…steady," said Jack. "Just takes a little time for the girls to produce milk, I'm sure Mr. Valestra knows how it is…"

"Mr. Valestra knows exactly how it is, Jack," growled Buzz, seizing him around the collar and lifting him up. "He knows that you're a two-bit cheat who ripped him off."

"Cheat…is such an ugly word," gasped Jack. "And so is 'ripped him off'…"

"So you're saying you got the money you owe and you're gonna pay him back?" asked Buzz, slamming him against the wall. "Is that what you're saying, Jack? Because that would be a different story."

"Well…I don't have it with me…right now…" stammered Jack. "But I can get it for him, no problemo…"

"Yeah? When are you gonna get it for him, Jack?" demanded Buzz. "Mr. Valestra ain't a patient man, y'know, and when people take money from him and don't pay him back, he can also be a very unpleasant man. People end up with broken kneecaps or missing fingers, if they don't just end up at the bottom of the river. Any of those sound fun to you, Jack?"

"No, Buzz, they don't," said Jack. "But you don't need to worry about me – I'm gonna pay him back. On my mother's grave. Cross my heart and hope to die. You can trust me."

"I don't trust any double-crossing swindler!" snapped Buzz, flicking out his knife.

"Hey, Buzz, the boss said to rough him up a little, not do any permanent damage," spoke up Chuckie Sol, the other enforcer. "He can't pay the money back if you hurt him too bad."

"Fine, Chuckie," snapped Buzz, releasing Jack, who fell to the ground. Buzz punched him across the face, and then kicked him hard in the gut. "I just can't stand crooks," Buzz muttered, spitting on him.

"The boss says you got three weeks," said Chuckie to Jack. "Next time we won't be so nice. C'mon, Buzz," he said, leaving the alley.

Jack stayed where he was on the ground, trying to catch his breath. Blood trickled down his nose, and he wiped it away, gasping. "C'mon, Jack, you got this," he said to himself. "Smile and it'll all work out. A positive attitude is the key to everything."

These were the kinds of things he told himself to get through the day. But right now, they didn't seem to lessen the pain in his body or the foreboding in his heart. He had no idea where he was going to get five-thousand dollars in three weeks, and he knew Sal Valestra didn't make empty threats. It had been stupid to try and swindle him – Jack had clearly got too overconfident to think he could get away with it. And that might cost him his life.

"Not yet," gasped Jack, struggling to his feet. "Not yet. I'm still alive, and think of all the assets I got. I got my charm and silver tongue and good looks…just about," he said, wiping his nose again. "I'll get Sal his five-thousand, and another five-thousand that I can use to strike it rich. This time in three weeks, I'll be in a penthouse with a beautiful dame and a roaring fire…not out here, in the cold and rain, bleeding and freezing to death…"

He drew his coat tighter around him as he reached for another stolen cigarette and lit it. He held that dream vision in his mind as he stepped back out onto the cold, wet, uncaring streets of Gotham City.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack headed out of the run-down neighborhood in which he lived and over toward the center of Gotham. That was where all the wealthy folks and tourists did their shopping, and fortunately for him, it was a very busy shopping season on the run up to Christmas. There would be tons of rich people out with spending money, and Jack was sure he could convince them to donate some of that to the less fortunate, whether voluntarily or involuntarily.

He took up a position in front of a department store, loitering against the wall while pretending to read a newspaper he had swiped from a vendor. He listened to the voices of the customers coming in and out of the revolving doors, glancing up occasionally to match a voice to a face.

"Harry's into superheroes this year, not pirates, so Santa needs to keep that in mind…"

Nope, people with kids never had lots of spare cash, thought Jack, returning his eyes to the newspaper. Kids were parasites who drained bank accounts faster than any scam.

"Remember, get the buy one, get one free option – I don't want to spend any more than I have to…"

Nope, cheapskate, thought Jack. Wouldn't carry spare cash on him – probably hoarded it all in some Swiss bank account and never got any pleasure out of it. Honestly, what was the point of having money if you never spent it?

"I swear, Mom, I had to show him my ID to convince him I was a doctor. Yeah, these are the kinda creeps I meet on online dating. The jerk actually said to me, 'You're too pretty to be a doctor', can you believe that? I offered to pay just to get outta there faster – it was a pretty pricey restaurant, but it was worth it."

Jack's ears pricked up at the word 'doctor', and he looked up to see the back of a blonde woman talking on a cell phone as she went through the revolving door into the store. Doctor, paid for a pricey restaurant, talking on a cell phone. That indicated wealth, and that she would be distracted. Bingo.

Jack folded the paper, and followed the woman into the store, keeping his eyes fixed on her as she headed over to the women's clothing section, still talking on her phone. He pretended to be perusing the aisle behind her until he was sure she wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to her surroundings. Then he sidled up near her, pretending to look at the neighboring rack of clothing. What he was actually doing was reaching into her purse, and lifting out her wallet.

"Excuse me, what are you doing?" said her voice, suddenly. He looked up to see her staring at his hand, which held her wallet half out of her bag. He had been caught red-handed, literally, and while normally he would have been able to either make a quick getaway, or think up some excuse, he found at that moment that he couldn't do anything but stare at her.

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life, and that took him completely off guard. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a tight bun back from her stunningly pretty face, full red lips and big blue eyes framed by thick, round glasses. Those eyes were glaring at him as she said, "Hang on, Mom, I'll have to call you back," and hung up the phone.

Jack snapped suddenly back to reality, and his smooth, charming nature. "I'm terribly sorry, ma'am," he said, handing her back her wallet. "But your wallet was just about to fall out of your bag."

"Is that so?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "Well, aren't you the gentleman for keeping an eye on my bag and seeing that it didn't."

"I'm just a concerned citizen, ma'am, with a caring nature," he said, removing his hat. "Wouldn't want you to lose your wallet on the run up to Christmas – might cause problems with your husband if there's no gift for him under the tree."

"Hard to cause problems with an imaginary person," retorted the woman, putting the wallet back in her bag.

"Well, I'm sure your boyfriend will have a Christmas proposal for you," he said.

"Again, hard to be proposed to by an imaginary person," she retorted. "But you seem very interested in my personal life. Just another aspect of being a concerned citizen?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, nodding. "A concerned citizen hates to see a beautiful woman alone during the holidays, or indeed, right now. Maybe I could buy you a coffee if you're not too busy shopping?"

"That's very generous of you," said the woman. "Especially since we haven't really been introduced and all. I'm Dr. Harleen Quinzel," she said, holding out her hand to him.

"Dr. Quinzel, it's a pleasure to meet you," he said, taking her hand and bending down to kiss it. It was then that she suddenly removed a pair of handcuffs from her bag, and slapped them over his wrist onto hers.

Jack stared from them to her. "Well, I can't say I don't like a forward dame, but I honestly think we should maybe have that coffee first before we move on to things like this…" he began.

"Funny," said Dr. Quinzel, clearly unamused. "But I don't carry these around to hook dates. When I first came to this city two years ago, I was pick-pocketed by a guy asking me for directions. So ever since then, I keep them in my bag just in case someone tries that again. I can just take 'em to the police station and save everyone a lot of trouble. I'm glad my preparedness finally paid off."

"Dr. Quinzel, I think there's been some misunderstanding…" he began.

"I don't," she interrupted. "You were trying to steal my wallet out of my bag. I may be blonde, but I don't know how dumb you think I am to actually buy that falling out of my bag story. Plus Gotham doesn't have concerned citizens. It only has thieves, liars, and crooks."

"That's a depressingly cynical attitude in one so young," said Jack.

"It's a realistic attitude," she retorted. "And it's why you're in handcuffs, and I still have my wallet. Let's go, slick," she said, heading out of the store and dragging Jack after her.

Jack was unsure of what to do. While he was probably stronger than Dr. Quinzel and could likely drag her away with him, he knew the moment he tried, she would kick up a fuss, and the police would be called anyway. He decided going down to the station with her was best – it wasn't the first time he'd been brought in, and it probably wouldn't be the last. And anyway, he was interested in learning more about Dr. Quinzel – any time spent with her helped with that.

"So you're a surgeon?" he asked, as they boarded the subway.

"Psychiatrist," she replied. "Not that it's any of your business."

"Psychiatrist?" he repeated. "I don't suppose you'd change your mind if you knew the circumstances of my attempted theft…"

"Nope," she interrupted. "I don't care. As a psychiatrist, I hear a lot of excuses for bad behavior – parents, upbringing, society, the list is endless. But as hard as this might be for you to hear, the truth is that the only person responsible for your bad behavior is you, pal."

"It's Jack," he said. "Jack Napier."

"I don't care," repeated Dr. Quinzel. "I don't care who you are or why you're a criminal. You're certainly old enough to know better than to try to pick-pocket people to earn a living. Why don't you get a job like everyone else?"

"Well, I tried working, but it wasn't very fun," he said, shrugging. "Getting up early, spending eight hours a day in a cramped office, that kinda life just didn't suit me."

"So you leech off the hard work of others, and that suits you?" she asked. "I work hard to earn my money, and you think you should be allowed to just steal it from me?"

"Look, you seem like a nice girl," he said. "I didn't think you'd mind donating some of your earnings to the less fortunate…"

"Less fortunate?" she repeated. "An able-bodied man who's too lazy to work for a living? That's your definition of less fortunate?" She shook her head. "You make me very angry, Mr. Napier," she said. "It's people like you who've made me cynical. When I first came to this city, I believed that people were basically good and decent. Two years here taught me different. It taught me that people are all basically selfish and dishonest, saying whatever they have to to get away with murder. They lie and cheat and steal and feel no remorse. So why should I care about them?"

Jack looked at her, and saw tears in her eyes. "You do, though," he said, gently. "You wouldn't be crying if you didn't really care."

"I'm not crying!" she snapped, wiping her eyes.

"You wouldn't be a shrink if you really didn't care about helping people," he said. "You'd say it's their own fault they're so messed up. But you spend your life trying to help people with problems become better people. That's not someone who doesn't care. That's someone who cares a lot."

"You don't know anything about me, so stop pretending you do," she snapped.

"I overheard you on the phone," he said. "You're trying online dating, but it keeps disappointing you. Which tells me that you're alone and lonely. And I know why. It's because you pretend not to care. You put up walls, and people sense that, and they stay away."

"You think you can do my job now, is that it?" she demanded. "You think you can psychoanalyze me? If you think that, Mr. Napier, why don't you apply to be a psychiatrist? Maybe if you had a job, you wouldn't feel the need to steal from people!"

"When's the last time you smiled?" he asked. "I mean really smiled? Or laughed?"

She ignored him, turning to stare at the subway ads. Jack shook his head. "Sad," he murmured.

"What is?" she demanded.

"Well, I'm a pretty cheerful guy," he said, shrugging. "I'm happy and carefree, despite having no employable skills and no job. The only thing I'm really missing is money. And you've got money, and a job, and a doctorate, but the only thing you're missing is happiness. And frankly, if I had to choose between the two, I'd choose my life. It may be dishonest, but at least I still remember how to smile."

"We're here," snapped Dr. Quinzel, as the subway doors opened. She dragged him out of the car and up the stairs, and down the road to the police station.

"Hello, I'd like to report an attempted theft, please," she said to the guard on duty.

The guard looked up and smiled at Jack. "Jack Napier," he said. "Fancy seeing you here again."

"I have a hard time keeping away from you boys in blue – you know how much I miss you," said Jack, with a grin.

"Take him to the cells," said the guard, as Dr. Quinzel released the handcuffs. "We'll take your statement over here, ma'am," he said, leading her over to a desk.

The cells of the Gotham City Police Department lined the walls of the building. From there, Jack could see Dr. Quinzel speaking to the officer – he caught snippets of their conversation, including the fact that she worked at Arkham Asylum, which he stored in his head for future use. He watched her eyes, so beautiful and sad, and felt the overwhelming urge to see her gorgeous face lit up with a smile again. There was something about her sadness and her pain, which she tried so desperately to hide, that fascinated him, and made him want to do anything to help her be happy again.

"I'm in love," he said to himself. "That's gotta be it, Jack. You've never felt anything like this before. You've been caught, hook, line, and sinker, by that sad, beautiful doctor. It was fate, I suppose, destiny that I picked her as my mark. Dr. Harleen Quinzel, the woman I love."

The drunk who shared the cell with him muttered, "Keep it down, would ya?"

"You can't ask a man in love to keep quiet about it," retorted Jack. "That's inhuman. I never thought it would happen to me, falling in love, but just look at her and tell me I'm wrong," he said, pointing at Dr. Quinzel.

The drunk obeyed. "Kinda nerdy looking," he said. "Nice ass, though. Would not mind getting my hands on that."

Jack beckoned him over. "Come over here and take a closer look," he said. The drunk obeyed, and Jack grabbed him and slammed his face into the bars, knocking him unconscious.

"That's what you get for talking about the woman I love," he muttered, watching Dr. Quinzel until she left the station.


	3. Chapter 3

"This had better be good, Gordon," snapped District Attorney Harvey Dent, as he headed down the corridors of the GCPD the next day. "I'm an incredibly busy man and I don't have a lot of time to waste chatting to petty criminals. Especially ones who are known to be con men."

"Trust me, Mr. Dent, Jack Napier's the kinda guy who'd sell out his own mother for a profit," replied Gordon. "And I tend to believe what he says in this case. He could be the guy we need to take down Sal Valestra for good."

"If you can believe one word that comes outta his lying mouth," retorted Dent, opening the door to the interview room where Jack Napier sat handcuffed. Jack smiled up at Dent.

"Mr. District Attorney, what a pleasure! I voted for you twice, y'know."

"Knowing you, Napier, it was probably twice in the same election," snapped Dent, sitting down. "Let's skip the pleasantries. Gordon says you have some information about Sal Valestra that you think will be valuable enough to cut some kind of plea bargain to get you outta here?"

"Yeah, I have places to be, Harvey," said Jack, nodding. "I'm a busy man – I'm sure you know how it is. Don't have time to waste rotting in jail."

"Then maybe you shouldn't be a slimy piece of criminal scum," retorted Dent.

"Harvey, is that really a nice way to talk to a guy who's gonna hand you Sal Valestra on a platter?" asked Jack.

"And why would you do that?" asked Dent. "I take your point about wanting to get out of here, but you must realize that ratting out Sal Valestra and then testifying against him in court, which will naturally be part of this plea bargain, could result in considerable heat being brought on you by his friends and associates."

"A little late for that, Harv!" chuckled Jack. "Sal's already got people out looking for me – I scammed him outta five grand so he's a little steamed. The sooner he's safe behind bars, the better. I trust your boys in law and order can keep him safely locked up for a good, long while. By the time he's released, I'll have skipped this dump of a town and made a new identity in a new place. I mean, sure, there's the possibility I'll be killed for it, but I'll definitely be killed if I don't pay back Sal's money. And you're more likely to put Sal away than I am to get his money in the time given to me, so ratting him out is really the lesser of two evils."

"Well, there's a third option," said Dent. "You could always go to prison - you'd be safe there. Well, as safe as anyone can be in Blackgate. But you've got a litany of petty crimes on your record – it'll score you a good five to ten years."

"Nah, I don't have time, like I said," said Jack, shaking his head. "I need to get out there now."

"Why, if Sal's looking for you?" asked Dent.

"Well, you probably won't buy this, but the fact is, I'm in love," said Jack. "And I gotta tell the woman I love how I feel before someone else snaps her up. And she's a gorgeous dame too, so there's a real danger of that. Every second I'm in here, the danger increases."

Dent stared at him. "Is that a joke?" he demanded.

"No, it's a serious issue!" snapped Jack. "I know she's trying online dating, so some loser on the internet is probably eyeing her right now! I gotta get in there fast to be in with a chance!"

"Mr. Napier, are you seriously asking me to believe that you're willing to sell out and testify against Sal Valestra, one of the most powerful gang lords in Gotham, just because you're trying to date a woman?" asked Dent.

"Well, not just _a_ woman – you ain't seen her," retorted Jack. "She's the woman I love. And they tell you love is worth risking everything for. I'd be a total idiot to have found the girl I love and then just let her go, all because I've been banged up in jail and don't have the guts to do whatever I have to to get outta there. How crazy do you think I am?"

"Based on this, totally insane," replied Dent. "And honestly, I don't know why you expect me to believe that cock and bull story."

"Because you know me, Harvey," retorted Jack. "If I wanted to lie to you, I could. If I wanted to sell you a story, I could make up a convincing one. That's what I do. You know I'm telling the truth because it's objectively unbelievable to you. And what kinda crap con man would make up an unbelievable story to convince someone of the truth? You know I'm slicker than that, right?"

Dent considered, and then laughed. "You know, Mr. Napier, as much as I loathe you and everything you stand for, I have to admit, you've got guts. And if you want to risk spilling 'em testifying against Sal because of some attractive floozy, that's your problem. If I let you out and you're lying, the worst that'll happen is you'll inevitably be brought in here again, and we'll lock you up and throw away the key for trying to con justice. But if I let you out and you're telling the truth, I will be able to take down a man I've been trying to bust since I first ran for DA. And with elections coming up next year, you can bet that's something I want to include on my resume. But you know all that, don't you? You knew I'd let you go the minute I walked into this room."

"I'm good at reading people, Harvey, what can I say?" asked Jack, shrugging. "It's a gift. But it's actually easier than you think - people usually act in boring, predictable ways. A guy like you, who's obsessed with making people like you and getting re-elected so you can stay in power, you'd make a deal with the devil if he could help you with that. I'm not the devil, of course, but I am just about as charming."

"But not as effective," retorted Dent. "When you make a deal with the devil, he always wins. You never win, do you, Mr. Napier? You keep trying and trying and failing at everything you do. You certainly don't have the devil's luck. If I were you, I'd expect this testifying against Valestra to backfire, and I'd also expect this girl you're interested in to completely reject you. I mean, that's been your life, right, the life of a loser? Why do you think things will change for you now?"

"Well, you gotta be optimistic about these things, Harvey," replied Jack. "What's the point of life if you think it's not gonna work out for the best? I mean, if you thought you were just a meaningless speck on the face of the earth doomed to failure and unhappiness and misery forever, you'd never be able to get outta bed in the morning, am I right?"

"I don't know – my life isn't meaningless," retorted Dent. "I have friends, relationships, a job, and a purpose – to clean up Gotham and protect it from roaches like you. Should a cockroach get outta bed in the morning? Or should it just crawl into a hole and die, like the unwanted pest it is?"

"You know, I'm a voter!" snapped Jack.

"Please, Mr. Napier, I think I can win my re-election without votes from vermin," retorted Dent. He shoved a piece of paper forward. "Now hand over Valestra's location, like the good little rat you are, and I'll have Gordon release you. You're to keep one eye on the news, and when you see the report that Valestra is going to trial, come to my office and we'll discuss what you're going to testify against him. I assume you're open to a little exaggeration in order to put him away for good?"

"Anything for you, Harv," replied Jack with a smile, writing down an address. "If there's one thing I can't resist, it's being insulted and talked down to by people in power. That's the way to my heart."

"Didn't know you had one, Mr. Napier," replied Dent, standing up and taking the paper. "But you're a free man now – I'll tell Gordon to let you go. If I were you, I wouldn't show up here again for a good, long while – your testimony will mean so much more if it doesn't come from a recently convicted felon. Plus if you have to go to prison after you've ratted out Sal, you probably won't survive your sentence. They do bad things to rats in prison, so I hear."

He knocked on the door. "Please uncuff Mr. Napier and allow him to leave," he said. "We've got what we needed from him, so he can return to his worthless little life that means so much to him for some reason. I hope the girl you're interested in likes pathetic snitches, Mr. Napier, but I'm sure whoever she is, she can do so much better. See you around."

"I'm not voting for him again," said Jack to Gordon, as he unlocked his handcuffs. "He acts all charming in public, but in private he's kinda a two-faced jerk."

"I'm sure he'll lose hours of sleep over your opinion of him, Napier," said Gordon, sarcastically. "A man of power and influence like you, you'll do so much damage to his reputation."

"Hey, I may not be a powerful guy, but I'm a human being!" retorted Jack. "I deserve to be treated with basic courtesy and respect!"

"Says who?" retorted Gordon. "In my world, a guy who doesn't respect other people doesn't deserve any respect himself. Do you respect all the people you've ripped off and stolen from?"

"Sure," said Jack, nodding. "I respect them for being stupid and gullible, so I can get away with it."

"You think you're a real funny guy, Napier," said Gordon, escorting him to the door of the GCPD. "But you're not. You're like a clown who thinks he's making people laugh, and doesn't realize that everyone's actually laughing at how pathetic he is. Maybe one day you'll wake up and see that, contrary to popular belief, everyone actually hates a clown."

Gordon shoved him roughly out the door and back onto the street. Jack dusted himself off, glaring back at the façade of the GCPD. "Clown, huh?" he muttered. "I'll show you a clown. One day, when I got my money and power, I'll show everyone what kinda clowns you cops and lawyers are. One day, mark my words," he repeated, heading off into the streets of Gotham.


	4. Chapter 4

Jack Napier stood with a bouquet of flowers in front of the iron gates to Arkham Asylum, gazing up in wonder at the huge, intimidating building behind it. "That don't look like any hospital I've ever seen," he said to himself, as he pushed open the gates. "More like a haunted house. Well, at least I know the woman I love ain't afraid of ghosts!" he chuckled, heading through the gates and up to the door. "I hope she's working today – it'll be awkward if I got the flowers and she ain't here. Guess I can always steal some more and come back tomorrow!"

He pressed the intercom by the door. "Yes?" said a voice.

"Hi, I'm here to see Dr. Harleen Quinzel," said Jack.

"Just a moment," said the voice, and the door buzzed. Jack pushed it open and headed inside. A dour, glum-looking middle-aged woman sat at the reception desk. "I've just buzzed Dr. Quinzel," she said. "Is it about anything in particular?"

"It's kinda a private thing," replied Jack. "Business of a personal nature, y'know."

"I see," said the receptionist, glancing at the flowers. "She's lucky – been a long time since anyone brought me flowers."

"What? A catch like you?" asked Jack, feigning shock. "That seems hard for me to believe. Lemme tell ya, toots, if me and Dr. Quinzel weren't an item, I'd snap you up in a second."

"That's a very impertinent thing to say," retorted the receptionist, but she smiled.

"See? Nice smile," said Jack, nodding. "That makes all the difference, y'know. When you get off work, you head out on the town with a smile on your face, and some lucky guy is bound to notice you, mark my words."

"I hope so," said the receptionist. "Dr. Quinzel's lucky to have a nice guy like you."

"Well, I only hope she realizes that," agreed Jack, as he saw Dr. Quinzel heading down the hall toward them.

"What is it, Dolores?" she asked. "You said I have a visitor…"

She trailed off when she saw Jack, staring at him in shock. "You…what are you doing here?" she demanded. "You're supposed to be in jail!"

"The law and me came to an understanding," said Jack with a smile. "And I was kinda hoping we could do the same, Doc. I brought you flowers to apologize for what happened between us…"

"You trying to steal my wallet, you mean?" demanded Dr. Quinzel.

"Yeah, that," agreed Jack. "It was a stupid thing to do, and I'm really sorry about it. I spent a sleepless night in jail thinking about it, and now I'm hoping you'll accept my apology."

"Fine," snapped Dr. Quinzel, taking the flowers from him. "Apology accepted. You can go now, Mr. Napier…"

"If only flowers and an apology were enough," he interrupted, sighing. "But I think it'll take more than that to assuage my guilty conscience."

"Like what?" asked Dr. Quinzel.

"How about dinner?" he asked. "You and me, someplace fancy, my treat."

Dr. Quinzel stared at him again. "Are you seriously asking me out on a date after you attempted to steal from me?" she demanded.

"It's not a date – it's an apology dinner," he said. "And if it happens to be someplace with candlelight and romantic music, that's all part of the apology."

"I honestly can't believe you!" snapped Dr. Quinzel. "Why on earth would you think someone like me would ever date someone like you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Jack. "You saying you're too good for me just because you're a fancy doctor and all?"

"I'm saying you're a criminal!" snapped Dr. Quinzel. "It has nothing to do with our social standings, and everything to do with you breaking the law!"

"Aw, c'mon, I bet a smart girl like you has broken the law a little in your time!" chuckled Jack. "Once you get to know me, you'll realize I ain't that bad a guy! I've never killed anyone, just relieved folks of their money from time to time."

"Look, you probably think you're some kinda dashing rogue, Mr. Napier, but I'm not the sorta girl who dates criminals, whatever their crimes. Period," she snapped.

"Is that what you put on your online dating profile?" he asked. "Because frankly you're excluding a huge section of society by being so picky…"

"It's not picky to want to have relationships with decent people, Mr. Napier!" snapped Dr. Quinzel. "And you're not that, despite all your superficial charm! Believe me, I've dated charming creeps before, and I've learned that it's not what's on the outside that counts!"

"Well, you're judging me by my outside," retorted Jack. "But if you went on an apology dinner with me, you could get to know my inside too! Geez, that came across a lot weirder than I intended when I said it out loud…" he added, frowning.

"Goodbye, Mr. Napier," snapped Dr. Quinzel, shoving the flowers back at him. "Please don't bother me ever again, at work or anywhere else."

She strode off. "Wait, wait, wait!" exclaimed Jack, racing after her. "You don't understand! I didn't just come here to apologize to you!"

"What did you come here for, then?" she demanded, whirling around.

"I…came here for some help," he invented. "It's like you say, toots, I'm a criminal. I've always been a criminal, and I'll always be a criminal, because I don't know how to stop. I don't know how to change my behavior – there's gotta be something wrong in my brain. So I kinda need help…with my brain…and that's what you shrinks do, right?"

Dr. Quinzel stared at him. "Are you saying you want to be treated as a patient here?" she asked.

"I sure am," he agreed, nodding. "I'm hoping you can fit me in for a few sessions – how's your schedule looking?"

Dr. Quinzel nodded slowly. "All right, Mr. Napier," she said, heading back to reception with him. "If you're serious about seeking treatment for your psychological issues, I'm sure we can set up regular appointments for you here."

"Great – I know you'll be able to help me, Doc," he said, nodding. "Sweet, compassionate gal like you will be just the kinda treatment I need…"

"I think you misunderstand me, Mr. Napier," interrupted Dr. Quinzel. "I won't be the one treating you – I've met you outside of a professional environment, after all, so it would be deeply unprofessional of me to agree to psychoanalyze you."

"Oh…well, that's…not ideal…" began Jack.

"But I think you're right – you do need help, and I applaud you for recognizing that before you commit another crime and end up in jail again," continued Dr. Quinzel. "I'll refer you to one of my colleagues, the best in his field at criminal psychology. After a few sessions with him, I'm sure you'll be right as rain. Dolores, please buzz Dr. Crane," she said, nodding at the receptionist.

A few moments later, a tall, thin man with glasses entered the room. "Harley, such a pleasure to see you again," he said, beaming at her. "Of course I'll be happy to help you in any way I can…"

"I'm very glad to hear that, Johnny," replied Dr. Quinzel. "This is Mr. Jack Napier, an associate of mine who has a bit of a problem with kleptomania, among other criminal impulses. I was hoping you could find the root of his problem and help him overcome it. Mr. Napier, Dr. Jonathan Crane," she said, nodding at him.

Jack looked at Crane, who looked back at him. While they had both been smiling when facing Dr. Quinzel, they now eyed each other with mutual disdain. Jack could tell Dr. Crane was not a particularly sympathetic man despite his specializing in criminal psychology, and he could also tell by looking that he was a fairly humorless man - sessions with him would definitely not be fun.

"Anything I can do to help, Harley, of course," said Crane, smiling back at her.

"Mr. Napier? Will having Dr. Crane as your therapist be satisfactory to you?" asked Dr. Quinzel.

Jack nodded slowly. "Sure thing, Doc – I'm sure we'll get along like a house on fire."

"Excellent," said Dr. Quinzel. "Thanks, Johnny. Best of luck with your therapy, Mr. Napier," she said, heading back off down the corridor. "I'm sure Johnny will have you out of here in no time."

Before she left, Jack saw her grinning to herself, and felt his heart soar. "The little minx," he muttered to himself, also grinning. "She thinks she can get rid of me that easy. She obviously doesn't know me, or how resolute Jack Napier can be."

"Come along, Mr. Napier," snapped Dr. Crane. "And don't touch anything in my office – I keep it carefully arranged so I'll know instantly if anything is missing."

Jack nodded, following him down the corridor after Dr. Quinzel. "What on earth are you smiling about?" demanded Crane, noticing his face.

"Oh, just life, Johnny," replied Jack.

"It's Dr. Crane to you," snapped Crane.

"Dr. Crane," corrected Jack. "You know what," he murmured to himself, as Dr. Quinzel smiled at him again before entering her office and shutting the door. "I think she likes me."


	5. Chapter 5

A few days later, Dr. Quinzel arrived at work to see Jack Napier waiting at reception. "Mr. Napier…you're back," she stammered, surprised.

"Yeah, made an appointment for a follow-up session with Dr. Crane since he helped me so much and all," said Jack, nodding.

"Oh…he did?" she asked.

"Yeah, he's all about the tough talking, but I think that's what I need," said Jack. "Not to be coddled and babied, but told that certain things about my life are unacceptable and need to be changed, no excuses."

"Well, that's…very admirable of you to take his suggestions on-board," said Dr. Quinzel, slowly. "I hope you'll…continue to do so."

"Oh yeah, I sure will, Doc," said Jack, nodding. "I'm a resolute guy – once I commit to something, I don't give up until I've achieved it. And if it's important to you for me to not be a criminal no more, then I won't be."

"You should be doing this for yourself, Mr. Napier, not for me," said Dr. Quinzel.

"Oh, I am," agreed Jack, nodding. "But it never hurts to have a little extra motivation. If you don't mind being my motivation, of course."

"Well…no, not in the broad, abstract sense," said Dr. Quinzel, slowly. "But you sticking with your therapy doesn't mean that I'm going to date you, I hope you realize that."

"Sure," said Jack, nodding. "But I'm an optimist, y'know. Maybe when my mind's all fixed up and non-criminal, I'll be completely irresistible. You never know."

Dr. Quinzel smiled. "Is Dr. Crane not here yet?" she asked the receptionist.

"He called to say he's stuck in traffic," she replied. "Could be a good half an hour."

"Well, you're welcome to wait in my office if you want, Mr. Napier," Dr. Quinzel said. "Better than this drafty lobby."

"It _is_ a little drafty," agreed Jack, standing up. "Remind me to bring you a sweater on my next visit, Dolores," he said, nodding at the receptionist. "Don't want you catching cold."

"You're such a sweet, thoughtful guy, Jack," sighed Dolores as he headed off with Dr. Quinzel to her office.

"I think you got a shot with Dolores," said Dr. Quinzel, smiling at him as she sat down at her desk.

"Well, she's a great gal, but not the one I'm interested in," he said, sitting down opposite her and smiling back. "But at least she finds me charming."

"I told you, I'm not interested in charming," retorted Dr. Quinzel. "I'm interested in sincere and honest."

"I'm being sincere and honest by admitting that I need help," said Jack.

"And what has Dr. Crane told you about why you do the things you do?" she asked. "Probably some kinda childhood trauma, knowing him. That's usually his diagnosis – his own childhood was particularly traumatic, so he tends to project that onto the patients."

"Do I detect a criticism of Dr. Crane?" asked Jack.

"No, his theories are supported by many prominent psychiatrists, Freud among them," said Dr. Quinzel. "I just sometimes think people are a little more complex than that. How was your childhood?"

"It was fine," said Jack, shrugging. "We didn't have much, but I was happy. I didn't start stealing until I was older, until I started seeing the world for the way it was."

"Which is?" asked Dr. Quinzel.

"Well, it's kinda crazy," said Jack. "You got people so rich they can afford five houses and fancy yachts and dozens of cars, and people so poor they can barely afford to eat. And then you hear stories about stock market crashes and rich people losing everything, and stories about poor people winning the lottery and spending their days in luxury! It's a mad, random, chaotic place, the world, and anything can happen in it. Every day a new possibility, a new opportunity to change everything for the better. I tell ya, how can anyone be miserable in a world like that?"

Dr. Quinzel smiled. "Well, I'm sure you realize in a world like that, random, terrible, bad things can happen too."

"Sure, they can," said Jack, nodding. "But why worry about them if you can't control them? I mean, nobody's actively going out of their way to make their life more miserable, right? When you hit rock bottom, the only way you can go is up. And yeah, my life might not be honest, but it's fun, for the most part. Thrilling. Never knowing if you're a dice roll away from riches, a card hand away from all your problems being solved. And all you need is a little cash to gamble with. So why waste your whole life working for it? Why not just borrow it from those who can spare it, and trust it to Lady Luck?"

"That philosophy doesn't seem to have worked out for you so far," said Dr. Quinzel.

"That's a matter of perspective," said Jack, grinning. "I met you, after all. Can't get luckier than that."

Dr. Quinzel couldn't suppress a grin. "You _are_ a charmer, Mr. Napier," she replied. "But I'm sure lots of women have told you that."

"Oh yeah, tons," he agreed, nodding. "But you're the first one I've wanted to be something other than a charmer for. Something better. If I never win another hand of cards, it'll be because I already hit the jackpot in finding you."

Dr. Quinzel felt the color rising to her face, and avoided his gaze. But she continued to smile.

Her door suddenly burst open. "I'm so sorry I'm late, Harley, but the traffic was a nightmare!" exclaimed Dr. Crane.

"It's fine, Johnny – Mr. Napier and I were just talking about his childhood," said Dr. Quinzel. "And his philosophy toward life in general. Very interesting stuff, wouldn't you agree?"

"Interesting, completely ludicrous, they're very similar," said Crane, nodding. "Why don't you come along to my office, Mr. Napier, and leave Dr. Quinzel in peace?"

"Sure thing, Doc," said Jack, nodding as he stood up. He smiled at Dr. Quinzel. "Thanks for the talk, Dr. Quinzel. I'm glad I could help you smile again."

Jack gazed at her as he left the room, until Crane slammed the door behind him. He said nothing as they stormed across the hall to his office, but once they entered and his door also slammed, he said, "Let me be perfectly clear, Mr. Napier. Patients are not to harass the doctors here, or they will be refused admission in future."

"I don't think I was harassing Dr. Quinzel, but of course that's for her to decide, not you," retorted Jack. "You don't need to get all uppity just because you're obviously sweet on her. What happened? Did you ask her out and she said no? Or have you not even gotten that far?"

"My feelings toward and relationship with Dr. Quinzel are both none of your business!" snapped Crane. "All you need to know is that you are not to bother her again!"

"I wasn't bothering her – she invited me to her office," retorted Jack. "There's no need to be jealous just because she never invites you anywhere."

Crane glared at him. "What chance do you think you have with a girl like that?" he hissed. "She's far, far too good for the likes of you, a petty felon with severe mental issues…"

"Hey, I don't have severe mental issues!" snapped Jack.

"I'm your doctor, and I say you do!" snapped Crane. "These will, of course, casually be mentioned to Dr. Quinzel, just in case she was considering doing anything stupid, like falling for your pathetic act! She is an angel on earth, too damaged to understand her own self-worth, and I will not let a criminal take advantage of her innocent vulnerability!"

"But you'll let a doctor?" demanded Jack. "What makes you think you'll be better for her than I am?"

"Well, perhaps I'm being too subtle," retorted Crane. "Let me be very plain, and tell you what you are."

He opened Jack's file and threw it down in front of him. "You are a thief!" he hissed. "A parasite – a man who leeches off other people! No self-respecting woman would have anything to do with a man like you, a man too spineless to even stand on his own two feet! What can you offer her, except a dishonest, purposeless life of sin and misery? What qualities of yours do you think would appeal to an angel on earth? Your superficial charm? Your sticky fingers? All that you have and all that you are is meaningless and insubstantial."

"That's not true!" snapped Jack. "I love her!"

"You love her?" repeated Crane. "You don't even know her! This is another one of your mad delusions – you don't love her, you just want to scam her out of her honor. You want to swindle her into a relationship, because that's all you know how to do. Love is selfless and noble, and you don't even know the meanings of those words. You shouldn't delude yourself any further – what you feel for her is merely the excitement of another con game. Impossible odds that you enjoy the thrill of gambling with. Winning her love is as out of the question as winning that elusive hand of cards that will make you an overnight millionaire, and your feelings for her are the same as that. They're based on selfishness, on making yourself a winner by winning the heart of a beautiful, smart, successful woman. But you're not a winner, Mr. Napier. You'll always be a loser. If you really loved Dr. Quinzel, you wouldn't want to drag her down with you. If you really loved her, you'd stop pursuing her at once before you ruin her life the way you've ruined yours."

Jack glared at him. "Why don't we leave it up to Dr. Quinzel to decide which one of us is the loser here?" he muttered. "Frankly, against you, I like my odds."

"Oh, Mr. Napier, haven't you realized yet that you always lose when you gamble?" sighed Crane.

"I won't this time," retorted Jack. "Got a funny feeling Lady Luck is finally starting to show an interest in me. Just like Dr. Quinzel," he added with a grin.

"You say you don't have severe mental issues when you're completely delusional?" asked Crane.

"Oh, you saw her blushing and smiling, same as I did," retorted Jack, grinning. "Anyway, you wouldn't be so riled up if you didn't think I was in with a chance."

"I think Dr. Quinzel has a kind, generous heart, sometimes too kind and generous for her own good," retorted Crane. "She is an angel, like I said, and her innate virtue sometimes makes her sympathetic to people who aren't worth her time."

"Well, personally, I've always thought nothing goes better with an angel than a charming devil," said Jack. "And I've always been that."

"I think we can both agree on you being a devil, Mr. Napier," retorted Crane. "Now shall we begin your session or not?"

"You really think you can reform a devil?" chuckled Jack.

"I can but try," retorted Crane. "And I'm getting paid for it, so I will."

"Yeah, you sure are," agreed Jack, smiling inwardly at remembering that he had given the receptionist fake health insurance information, and imagining Crane's face when he realized that Jack had conned him out of hours of his time. He _was_ a charming devil, he had to admit. He only hoped his angel would like that.


	6. Chapter 6

Despite the casual verbal attacks and petty insults Dr. Crane threw at him every session, Jack continued to head to Arkham, daily and faithfully. He did bring Dolores a sweater, after which, whenever Dr. Quinzel appeared at reception, Dolores would casually say, "You know, the least you could do is give him a chance."

Dr. Quinzel tried to ignore these comments, but she couldn't ignore her own growing interest in Jack, which concerned her, since it went against all common sense. The man had attempted to steal her wallet, bribed his way out of jail somehow, and now stalked her at work every day. He was a criminal, and she should naturally be repulsed by that and his actions. The fact that she wasn't troubled her.

One day, Jack appeared at Arkham to see an attractive red-headed woman waiting at reception. "Jack, it's so great to see you again," said Dolores, beaming at him. "Please take a seat while I buzz Dr. Crane and Dr. Quinzel."

"Oh? She wants to see me?" asked Jack, hopefully.

"Not you, unfortunately," said Dolores, nodding at the red-head. "Dr. Isley."

Jack looked at the red-head, who looked back at him. "You a friend of Dr. Quinzel's?" he asked, casually.

"Yes," retorted Dr. Isley, studying him coldly with her green eyes. "We went to college together."

"You a shrink too?" asked Jack.

"No, a botanical biochemist," retorted Dr. Isley.

"That's a lotta big words!" chuckled Jack.

"No, it's two," retorted Dr. Isley, humorlessly.

"Right. You here to see Dr. Quinzel about your sense of humor problem?" asked Jack.

"I'm here to take her to lunch," retorted Dr. Isley. "She needs to talk to a friend who can make her see reason about…certain things," she said, eyeing him distastefully.

"Well, put in a good word for me, won't you, Doc?" chuckled Jack, nudging her.

"Don't touch me without permission ever again," snapped Dr. Isley. "That's sexual harassment, you pig."

"O…K…good talk…Johnny, I've never been so happy to see you!" exclaimed Jack as Dr. Crane appeared in the lobby.

"It's Dr. Crane," corrected Crane. "You should know that by now, Napier, though I understand you are hugely mentally deficient."

"Have you met Dr. Isley?" asked Jack. "I think you two might get along."

"We have met," agreed Crane, nodding. "How are you, Pamela?"

"Fine, Jonathan," replied Isley. "How are you?"

"I have a thorn in my side, but otherwise I'm quite well," replied Crane, nodding at Jack.

"Hey, I'm right here!" exclaimed Jack.

"Pam, I'm so glad you could make it…" began Dr. Quinzel, entering the room and smiling at her. "Oh…Mr. Napier, good to see you again," she said, smiling at him and blushing slightly. "How are you today?"

"All the better for seeing you, Doc!" chuckled Jack, beaming at her. "You're like a ray of sunshine in these cold, nasty surroundings. And I ain't just talking about the architecture," he added, nodding at Crane and Isley.

"Are you implying your famous charm doesn't work on them?" asked Dr. Quinzel with a grin.

"Couldn't care less, really, as long as it works on you," he replied, grinning back.

"Come along, Mr. Napier, it's time for your session," snapped Crane, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him down the hall.

"Come on, Harley, let's get lunch," said Isley, heading for the door.

"Let me just get my purse, Pam," said Dr. Quinzel, turning to follow Jack and Crane down the hall. She stopped at the door to her office, and grabbed her purse from the hook off the back of it.

"Keep an eye on your wallet, toots – you don't want some unscrupulous crook trying to steal it again," said Jack, grinning at her from the door of Crane's office.

"No, I certainly don't," she replied. "Believe me, one unscrupulous crook is enough for me."

"I'm real glad to hear it, Doc," he said, smiling. Crane slammed the door at that moment, and Dr. Quinzel headed back out to join Dr. Isley.

"So I'm crazy, right?" asked Dr. Quinzel at lunch, as she sat opposite Isley, nursing a cup of coffee. "I mean, to actually feel…an attraction to him, however slight."

"You know more about crazy than me, Harley," retorted Isley, picking at her salad. "But if you ask me, yes, you're completely out of your mind. I met him for two minutes and could fairly accurately judge him as a lazy lowlife. He doesn't have an attractive personality, or physical appearance. And he's old."

"He's not that much older than Jason…" began Dr. Quinzel.

"Leave my boyfriend out of this," snapped Isley, glaring up at her. "He's an accomplished research scientist who's going to make a huge difference in the future of plant hybridization, not some common thief and con man."

"All I'm saying is that his age doesn't make him less attractive, which you should understand," said Dr. Quinzel.

"All right, think of your professional ethics, then," retorted Isley. "He's a patient, Harley. Not your patient, true, but one of your colleague's. You can't pursue a romantic relationship with him – it's unethical."

"Again, I'm not sure how ethical your relationship as a young researcher is with your head of research," retorted Dr. Quinzel.

"I don't know what you're trying to say – in a professional context, Jason doesn't treat me any differently than any of the other people who work under him," retorted Isley. "He's completely professional at all times at work, as am I."

"I'm not trying to blame you for it, Pam – I just think you of all people can understand my position," said Dr. Quinzel. "Of course my brain knows it's all wrong for a number of valid reasons to feel what I do…but I _do_ feel it. I can't just ignore it and hope it'll go away…"

"That's exactly what you should do," interrupted Isley. "It's the only sensible thing to do. What's the alternative?"

"Well…go on a date with him, and see how it goes," said Dr. Quinzel, slowly.

"And if it goes well?" pressed Isley. "Would you actually engage in a physical relationship with one of your colleague's patients, a man you met when he tried to steal from you?"

"I think that's part of the attraction, though – the fact that he's so objectively wrong for me, and the fact that it doesn't make any sense to be attracted to him," said Dr. Quinzel. "There's just an urge, a very strong part of me that rebels against that idea of being sensible and good, which I've been my whole life. A part of me that wants to just…do the wrong thing for once, and be a little bad."

"Why? So you can end up picking people's pockets with your boyfriend?" asked Isley, sarcastically. "What kinda future can you actually see with a man like that? You go off to work in Arkham, he goes off to rob the gullible, you come home at the end of the day and talk about interesting patients and avoiding the cops, and you head off to bed together right after you've checked to see if he's stolen any money from your purse…"

"Look, I haven't thought that far ahead," snapped Dr. Quinzel. "I'm not intending to make a home with him anytime soon. I just don't think there's any harm in having dinner. It might be good in the long run – he might have terrible table manners and treat the waiting staff like crap, and I might completely go off him. I only have two options as far as I can see – I can either try to repress this urge and risk making myself completely miserable…or I can take a chance and see how things go."

"Can you hear yourself, Harley?" demanded Isley. "Can you actually hear what you're proposing? You want to go on a date with a criminal. You don't even know his whole list of offenses – what if he's a rapist? What if he drugs your drink and takes advantage of you? You can't trust people like that."

"I'll be careful," said Dr. Quinzel. "I've seen Dr. Crane's notes on him, though, and there's nothing like that in Jack's past. I'll keep an eye on my drink the whole time, just in case, and it'll just be one dinner and then straight home. I'm not the kinda girl to do any more than that, at least not on the first date. And if he tries to force me to do more than that, that will also instantly kill my attraction. So either situation is really a win in the long run."

"There's obviously nothing I can say to stop you – you've clearly made up your mind to give him a chance," sighed Isley. "Just be careful. Text me when he picks you up, and when you get home. Personally, I've found everything you've told me about him utterly despicable, including his current behavior. He's basically stalking you, and you're proposing giving him what he wants and going on a date with your stalker. It's crazy. As a psychiatrist, surely you must see it's crazy?"

"Of course I do," said Dr. Quinzel, nodding. "But I also know you get nowhere good by repressing urges. Often that only makes them stronger, while negatively affecting your mental health. For whatever reason, my brain is trying to make me do crazy things, and I have to go along with it for now. In an ironic way, it's actually the only way for the sane part of my brain to reassert itself. And when the crazy part has made a mess of everything, it will take back control, with a firm 'I told you so,' and I'll never have the desire to do anything this crazy again."

"I certainly hope you're right," sighed Isley. "He's clearly an awful human being. Old, ugly, with that smarmy salesman shtick that he probably thinks is so charming while scamming people outta their hard-earned cash. Completely contemptible on every level. You'd be much better dating Dr. Crane."

"Johnny? He's my friend and all, but I don't feel anything for him more than that," said Dr. Quinzel. "And anyway, he's about as old as Jack."

"As you say, it's not really about the age," retorted Isley. "It's about the personality attached to it. Decent, upstanding doctor, or lying, pathetic con man? It's not a hard choice, Harley."

"Maybe not for you, Pam," agreed Dr. Quinzel.

"Maybe not for any sane person," retorted Isley.

Dr. Quinzel was silent, finishing her lunch. Then Isley drove her back to work, and she strode down the corridor to Dr. Crane's office. She had hoped that her best friend's disapproval would help her crush her feelings for Jack, but if anything, it had just made them stronger. There must be something wrong with her, Dr. Quinzel reasoned, something she should probably seek some therapy for. But she had always been of the belief that a self-aware person such as herself should be able to solve her own problems using logic and reason. And as illogical and unreasonable as her idea of going on a date with Jack was, there was a method to it – she would see that he was nothing special, that this forbidden, mysterious romance she had built up in her head was all a ridiculous fantasy. The reality of the date was bound to be disappointing, and that would be the end of it. She nodded firmly at this, and then raised her hand and knocked.

"Come in," said Crane's voice.

Dr. Quinzel entered, beaming. "Johnny, I was wondering if I could borrow Mr. Napier for a moment," she said, smiling at Jack who sat on the sofa.

"Oh? What for?" asked Crane, looking annoyed.

"Just…something we discussed in my office the other day," said Dr. Quinzel, lightly. "I think I have a solution to one of his problems."

"Anything you can share with me?" asked Crane.

"Um…it's kinda a personal problem…which I think he's more comfortable discussing with me in private," said Dr. Quinzel, glancing at Jack. "Isn't that right, Mr. Napier?"

"You bet, Doc," said Jack, standing up. "I'll be back in five, Craney – keep that 'crane'ium working. Get it? 'Crane'ium?" he chuckled.

"Yes, how very droll," muttered Crane, glaring at Jack as he left behind Dr. Quinzel.

"Thanks for getting me outta there, Doc, I owe you one," said Jack, as they headed across the hall to her office. "Good excuse too, private problem, but I can't imagine what Dr. Crane must think we talked about. Not that I think his opinion of me could really be any lower…"

Dr. Quinzel shut the door to her office as they entered, and then turned to him, clearing her throat. "Mr. Napier, would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?"

He stared at her, incredulous. "You mean like an apology dinner, or like a date?" he asked.

"Well…why not both?" she asked, slowly. "Just…don't tell anyone here. Especially not Dr. Crane. It would be…highly unethical for me to date a patient…he could probably get me fired for it."

"You're risking your career to go on a date with me?" asked Jack. He whistled. "Sweetheart, I didn't know you cared that much!"

"I don't," she retorted. "I think this is just…something I need to do. And I assume a man who makes a living pick-pocketing others knows a thing or two about discretion."

Jack grinned at her. "Don't you worry about me, toots," he said. "Lips are sealed."

"In that case…I'll see you tomorrow night, Mr. Napier," she said. "Seven o'clock at _Mario's_ …if you like Italian food, of course."

"Who doesn't like Italian food?" asked Jack. "But honestly, the food ain't important. As long as I'm with you, we could be eating garbage for all I care. Though of course, I wouldn't call _Mario's_ food garbage. Not to his face, anyway – Italians are stereotypically short-tempered, and I wouldn't want any violence on my date. Might spoil the mood."

"I'd like to make it clear right now, Mr. Napier, that this is just one date," said Dr. Quinzel, firmly. "We're having dinner, and then I'm going home alone."

Jack nodded. "So I only got one shot to win your heart," he said. "Better not blow it. No pressure, right, Doc?" he chuckled.

"Perhaps…considering the circumstances…you should call me Harley now, Mr. Napier," said Dr. Quinzel slowly.

He grinned. "Only if you call me Jack, toots."

"Jack," she repeated. "I'll…see you tomorrow evening."

"I'm really looking forward to it, Harley," he said.

She nodded. "Well…you'd better get back to your session with Dr. Crane before he gets suspicious. Not that he has anything to be suspicious about, since we're not doing anything technically wrong…but still, don't tell him we're having dinner."

"Of course not, toots," said Jack, nodding. "He'd probably think you're crazy."

"Believe me, I'm not so sure I'm not," murmured Dr. Quinzel, gazing after him as he returned to Dr. Crane's office.


	7. Chapter 7

"All right, Jack, you only got one shot at this date tonight," said Jack as he wiped off the condensation from his bathroom mirror after his shower and stared at his reflection. "Don't screw it up."

He began lathering his shaving foam onto his face. "I dunno what you're so nervous about – you're good at getting folks to like you," he said to his reflection. "That's why you're such a good scam artist. People like you – they trust you. You just gotta be your usual charming self tonight, and that doctor is gonna fall head over heels for you, you can bet your life on it. You're never nervous before a scam – just think of this as another one of those."

He picked up his razor. "But it ain't just another one of those – that's why I'm nervous," he replied. "It's so much more important than any scam I've ever committed. With those, if you screw up, you can just walk away and try again. With this…I'll never get another chance. If I screw up, it's over. So of course I'm nervous. I finally got something to be nervous about, something I'm actually afraid of losing. I ain't afraid to lose money - there's tons of it out there, and I knew I'd always get my hands on more somehow. Whenever I lost a game, I knew I could always just start playing it again eventually. But this…this ain't a game."

He drew his razor down his cheek. "And even during that scam on Sal, when I knew it coulda cost me my life, I wasn't nervous like this…"

He trailed off, frowning at his reflection. "Well, cut it out, or you'll cut yourself, and shaving scars won't add to your attractiveness. And speaking of Sal, I keep forgetting to check the news…"

He flicked on his radio, tuning it to the news station. "…received reports that Salvatore Valestra has been arrested today on several criminal charges. District Attorney Harvey Dent, who issued the warrant, said he is pleased to be able to fulfill one of his campaign pledges by locking up, in his own words, 'the most dangerous mob boss in Gotham City.'"

The radio switched to Dent's voice. "It's my hope that with Salvatore Valestra off the streets, Gotham will become a much safer place. The good and the innocent will be able to wander in peace, without fear for their lives. As I promised in my election campaign, we are slowly but surely winning the war against crime in Gotham."

"Mr. Dent, how do you know that you'll be able to put Mr. Valestra behind bars for good this time?" asked a reporter. "He has eluded conviction by the law before."

"Not with me as District Attorney," replied Dent. "I can assure you, I have the means, and the determination, to make sure that Salvatore Valestra never sees the outside of a prison cell again. I promise the people of Gotham, I will see to it that justice is served."

"Doesn't thank the little guy who handed him Sal – typical," muttered Jack, returning his attention to shaving. "I hope he's serious about putting him away for good though. I don't wanna have to skip town if things go well with Harley tonight."

He glared at his reflection again. "None of that 'if,' Jack. You're gonna knock her socks off tonight. At least, you'd better, if you want a second date. You screw this up, and you might as well tell Sal you're the one who squealed on him for all your life will be worth. This girl is the best thing that ever happened to a loser like you, and if you scare her off, what have you really got left to live for?"

He drew his razor smoothly down his cheek. "I mean, they're right, you know that, don't you, Jack? Dent and Crane and everyone else who tells you you're scum, you're worthless, you're a loser. You are. You're a lazy, good-for-nothing slacker, and the fact that a great gal like Harley is even looking at you is nothing but a fluke. You gotta change if you wanna be worthy of her. You gotta be better. She deserves that."

He began shaving his other cheek. "I don't know if she'll believe me if I tell her that, but it's true. And maybe it'll sound like I'm coming on too strong on the first date, but I only got one shot at this, like she said. If I don't tell her now, I might not get another opportunity."

He rinsed off the remaining shaving foam. "Still, to tell someone you love 'em on a first date, and that they're really the only good thing about your life, isn't exactly the smoothest thing to do. But if anyone can pull it off, it's you, Jack," he said, smiling at himself in the mirror. "Just be honest and sincere and tell her how you feel."

He grimaced. "I just ain't good at being honest and sincere, though. I might try to back off back into smooth charm. Let's practice now. Harley, I love you."

He examined his reflection, and shook his head. "You don't look like you mean it. But you do, and that's gotta be reflected in your face and in your voice. She's gotta know. Even if she doesn't wanna see you again, she's gotta know how great she is, and how much she means to you. Try again. Harley…I love you."

He shook his head. "Need to keep working on it in the cab. Or maybe it's the kinda thing practice don't make better. Maybe it's the kinda thing you just gotta say when you feel it. Maybe it only looks sincere when it's spontaneous."

He sighed, glaring at himself. "God, what the hell do I know about love? I just know that's what I feel for her. I wouldn't be this terrified about tonight otherwise. And I can't even tell myself to just be myself, because myself isn't good enough for her."

He took a deep breath. "Well, I'd better get dressed. Don't wanna keep her waiting – that would ruin the date before it's begun."

Jack went into his bedroom to dress in the suit he had shoplifted for the occasion. Then he slicked back his hair, sprayed on some cologne, and looked in the mirror again. He glanced upward. "Lady Luck, if you can hear me, baby, please stay with me tonight. This means more than you can know, and I'll never ask you for another favor again. Probably," he added, grabbing his hat and heading out the door.


	8. Chapter 8

Harley arrived at the restaurant early, and sat down, smoothing down her dress and checking her makeup. She had texted Isley to let her know she had arrived, and now she glanced around, wondering, as she had most of the day, if this was crazy.

A few moments later, Jack walked through the door, carrying a single rose. He noticed her, and his jaw dropped noticeably. Harley felt a warm feeling in her stomach as she stood up, smiling at him.

"Hi," she said, as he approached.

"Hi," he stammered. "God, you look…absolutely beautiful."

"Thank you," she said, blushing.

"Brought you something to match the blush," he said, grinning at her as he held out the rose. "And your dress. Nice color – red suits you."

"Thank you," repeated Harley, taking the rose. "You also look…very handsome."

"Yeah, I scrub up all right, for a worthless criminal, as Dr. Crane calls me," said Jack, taking a seat across from her. "I trust you've scanned the room for him?"

"He's not here," said Harley, with a smile. "I don't think he's the kinda guy who goes out much."

"Well, not to these kinda places, probably," agreed Jack, nodding. "He'd need a date, for one. And with you otherwise occupied, I don't think he'd be interested in anyone else."

Harley stared at him. "Are you saying…Dr. Crane wants to date me?" she stammered.

"You mean you didn't know?" laughed Jack. "I find that hard to believe! C'mon, you can't tell from the way he looks at you, the way he's super overprotective of me being around you?"

"I thought he was just…concerned because of the kinda guy you are," stammered Harley.

"And what kinda guy is that?" asked Jack.

"Well…you said yourself…a criminal," said Harley, slowly. Her phone buzzed at that moment, and a text back from Isley popped up on the screen which lay on the table between them: _Be sure to keep an eye on your drink_.

"I'm sorry, that's not…something you should read," stammered Harley, grabbing the phone and swiping away the screen. "It's not…about you…"

"I'm pretty sure it is," replied Jack, nodding. "I could try to reassure you that I'm not that kinda guy, but that's just what that kinda guy would say, isn't it?"

"I don't think you are that kinda guy," agreed Harley. "Pam's just…concerned. She's always been kinda a big sister to me, and she feels protective about me…dating someone like you."

Jack said nothing, reaching for his water glass. "Can I ask you a question?" he said.

"Of course," said Harley, nodding.

"Well, you know…the kinda guy I am," he said, slowly. "Your colleague thinks I'm worthless, your best friend thinks you shouldn't be alone with me. So…why did you ask me out?"

Harley said nothing, sipping her own glass. "I've dated a lot of respectable guys who turned out to be creeps," she said at last. "I might as well see how an unrespectable one turns out."

"And that's it?" he asked.

"Well…no," admitted Harley. "To be honest with you, the fact that you're so objectively wrong for me…is in a weird way very attractive to me. The fact that everyone disapproves of you, the fact that we have to date in secret…it's all very…alluring. I know that sounds crazy and wrong…"

"Yeah, it does," he agreed with a grin. "I might have misjudged you, toots. There is a little bit of a bad girl in there after all, isn't there?"

"I don't know about that," said Harley, blushing again. "I've just…been very unhappy since I came to Gotham. I used to be a very happy person, but something about this town, and my life in it…it's just beaten me down and changed me. I mean, nobody I know is very…fun. Pam's pretty serious-minded, as you could probably guess, and so is Johnny. Some part of me sees them, and sees myself in them, and realizes I don't want to be like that. I don't want to be boring and respectable and…good, I guess. I don't want to be just another citizen of this town which chews up and spits out happiness. I want to be…" She trailed off.

"What?" he prompted.

"Well…I want to be happy again," she said. "And you're…a bad person, a criminal…but as you say, you're happy. I want to know your secret. I want to smile again, the way you do. I want people's opinions not to bother me, the way you don't let Dr. Crane's judgments bother you. And maybe…I have to let myself be a little bad to accomplish that. It's worth a try, anyway."

He nodded. "You're a bright gal, toots, and a great shrink. You're right – there is something about this town that makes people miserable. It sucks out life and happiness and leaves only despair and cynicism. I've seen it happen to a million people, and I refuse to let myself be one of 'em. I was born and raised here, and my mom always taught me that with a friendly demeanor and a big smile, good things will come your way. I'm not sure using a friendly demeanor and a big smile to rip people off is exactly what she meant," he chuckled. "But that's what you gotta do to live. You gotta keep a positive attitude. Otherwise you're just surviving, not living."

Harley nodded. "I…can't talk about this with Pam or anyone, obviously," she said. "But I can with you. And I like that I can," she added with a smile.

He smiled back. "Well, let's order drinks," he said, gesturing for the waiter. "We should request yours in a sippy cup so you don't have to keep an eye on it," he chuckled. "Lemme guess – you're a cocktail girl. Singapore sling, Manhattan, mojito, what's your poison? Oh, I didn't mean that literally," he stammered, hastily. "I'm not gonna touch your drink, honest…"

Harley giggled. "You know, you're kinda cute when you think you've said something stupid and try to backpedal. I much prefer that to your smooth criminal persona. But I'm not a cocktail girl – I'm a red wine girl."

Jack made a face. "Boring drink."

"What would you recommend instead?" she asked.

He glanced at the cocktail menu. "Let's try sex on the beach," he said. "Not literally," he added, hastily. "It's the name of a drink…I ain't trying to make a move…"

"There it is again," she said, grinning. "Sincerity. It suits you, Jack."

"Well, if you want me to keep embarrassing myself tonight, I'm sure I can do that," he said, nodding. "Off to a good start, anyway. Though frankly, I'm pretty sure making a fool of myself is not a great way to win a girl's heart…"

"Maybe not most girls," agreed Harley, nodding. "But I think it's cute. And aren't I the one you want to be with?"

"Oh yeah," he replied. "The only one, ever again. I'm a lot older than you, kid, and I've dated enough women to know that…when you find the one, nothing else matters. And…from the moment I met you, I felt something I never felt before. I want…so much to make you happy."

"Well…I'm happy now," said Harley slowly, smiling at him. "Now let's have that sex on the beach. Drink," she added, grinning.

Their drinks arrived, and Harley sipped hers tentatively. "Not bad," she commented. "Now…can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, anything," he said, nodding.

"What you said, about me being the one…how do you know that?" she asked. "Why are you so certain that's me? You barely know me, and while you might find me attractive, there's a big difference between that and love. But you've been through a lot, including several unpleasant sessions with Dr. Crane, just to get me to go out with you. Why? I mean, why me, I guess. I'm nothing special, and even if I am, you don't know me…"

"No, but I want to," he interrupted. "More than anything. I've spent most of my life wanting stuff, toots, but I've never wanted anything more than spending this evening with you, talking with you, getting to know you and…seeing you smile," he said, nodding at her. He shrugged. "As to why…I guess I don't know that you're the one, not for sure. I don't think anyone can ever be completely sure about stuff like that. But I think you are, and I'm a gambler, and I'm willing to gamble that you are. I like my odds anyway."

He shrugged again. "But Dr. Crane thinks that's all my feelings are. I'm just trying to win you, like some bet, to con you into a relationship because that'll make me feel like less of a loser. Maybe he's right. But that's not what my instincts tell me. For one thing, I was nervous getting ready for tonight. I'm never nervous in a casino, or out on a scam. I'm always smooth and confident. And as you can tell from tonight, I'm neither of those things around you," he added, grinning. "So my feelings have gotta be real, huh?"

"Yeah," agreed Harley, smiling. "I'm willing to take a chance on them anyway. I'm not a gambler at all, never have been, but…I did take a gamble tonight. And so far it's…paid off. I like you like this."

"I…like you too," he agreed, nodding. "In fact, I…love you, Harley. I know that's not something you're really supposed to say on a first date, but it's the truth, and you said you liked sincere…"

"I do," she interrupted. "I just…don't understand what it is you love about me."

"Are you kidding?" he asked. "Have you looked in a mirror lately? I mean, it ain't just that – I've never met a gal who's a shrink and who's as young as you are. That's something I could never dream of accomplishing – sticking to all that studying, and all that hard work. I'm in awe of that. I loved your spunk when we first met – arresting me and dragging me to the cops single-handedly took some guts. And I know you put up walls, but you put them up because you got something rare and valuable to protect. Behind those walls, you're a kind, compassionate person. You don't treat your patients the way Dr. Crane treats me. You treat them like human beings. You're sympathetic and sweet, and you see the good in people. I've spent my whole life thinking that's a weakness. But in you, it's strength. And it shines through in everything you do. I'm astounded by that. And I love that. I love you, Harley."

She nodded slowly, blushing. "I can see why…you're a very good con man, Jack," she said. "You're very persuasive…"

"I'm just telling the truth," he said. "From now on, that's all I wanna do. I wanna be a good man, a man worthy of you, because you deserve that. I want to be better. That's why I'm sticking with Dr. Crane – not just to be near you, but to be better for you. And sometimes to improve, we have to put up with hearing things we don't like. We have to go through some bad times, because it'll be worth it for the good times ahead. And if those good times involve you…well, they're worth putting up with anything for."

"Well…I'm glad I can inspire you to be a better person," she said. "Just like…you inspire me to be a happier one."

"Maybe that's what love is," he said, grinning. "I mean, I know what it is, because I feel it for you. But I'm not the kinda guy who's good at explaining his feelings, and maybe that's a good way of explaining them. Love is the inspiration to do whatever you feel is lacking in your life. Because you wanna be the best person for the person you love."

"I…don't think I love you, Jack," said Harley, slowly. "That…would be crazy, after knowing you so short a time, and you being…a criminal and all…"

"Probably not," he agreed. "But if I can inspire you to be happy, then I got hope that maybe you will love me someday."

"Maybe," she said, smiling. "Can I ask you another question?"

"That's what people on dates do," he replied, grinning.

"How did you get out of jail?" she asked. "And so quickly?"

"Oh, that's easy," he said, nodding. "I cut a deal with the DA. I did some business with Salvatore Valestra recently, and I told the DA where he was, and promised I'd testify against him when he goes to trial. Should be soon, as he's just been arrested," he added, sipping his drink.

Harley stared at him. "But…you must know that testifying against a mob boss is a hugely dangerous thing to do. Why would you offer to do that just to avoid a few weeks in jail?"

"I didn't have the time to be in jail," he replied, shrugging. "I had to get out and see you, to tell you how I feel. Couldn't risk being in jail while some other guy comes along and snaps you up. Anyway, I can always just not show up to testify, but Dent says if I welch on the deal, he's gonna lock me up and throw away the key for good. And I believe him. And I'd rather be free with Sal's threats hanging over me than risk being locked up and taken away from you forever. I'd rather Sal killed me than risk that."

"You've…put yourself in incredible danger…just to be around me?" stammered Harley.

"Well, yeah," he said, shrugging again. "I love you, Harley."

She gazed at him, not knowing how to respond to that. Her heart was beating wildly, and she had never felt more attracted to anyone in her life. Knowing what he had done for her only added to that. "Jack…I…don't know what to say," she stammered. "I think that was…horribly foolish and reckless and…"

"And?" he prompted.

"And I think I want to kiss you," she blurted out.

He grinned. "Well…you can always try and see how it goes."

She nodded, leaning tentatively forward across the table. He leaned in too, and their lips were inches from meeting when…

Her phone buzzed again, breaking the spell, with another message from Isley. _Be sure to text me when you get home tonight. Or I'll worry about you being tied up in his basement or something._

"I wouldn't try tying up on the first date," commented Jack, as Harley seized the phone and shoved it into her bag. "Maybe on the second, depending on how things go. I'm only joking, of course…"

He was cut off as Harley seized his face and pressed her mouth deeply into his. She didn't break the kiss for a long time, pulling away slowly at last and gazing at him in astonishment at the feelings that single kiss had made explode inside her.

He smiled at her. "Well, whatever Sal wants to do to me, it's worth it."

Harley said nothing, reaching into her bag for her phone and typing out a message. "I'm telling Pam that I'm home," she said. "I don't want her bothering us for the rest of the night. I'm telling her we had a quick dinner and then you dropped me off home, end of story."

"Um…ok," he said. "But why would you tell me that, if you don't trust me?"

She looked up at him. "I do trust you, Jack," she said. "And I want this evening to last, and I don't want to have to keep checking in with Pam. She might not trust you, but I do. And I want to spend a long, uninterrupted time with you tonight. That may be crazy, but…I'm starting to be happy being a little crazy," she added with a smile.

He grinned. "It suits you, Harley," he said. "Both the crazy and the happiness." He held up his glass. "To Jack and Harley, two crazy, happy people on a crazy, happy date."

"I'll drink to that," said Harley, chinking her glass against his and beaming. Then she grabbed a menu. "Now let's order dinner – I'm starved."


	9. Chapter 9

Dinner lasted several hours – Harley and Jack both ordered starters, mains, and then desserts. After all the food was gone, they still sat, talking and laughing, until the waiter informed them that they were closing.

"What, really?" asked Jack, looking around at the empty restaurant. He whistled. "Sorry, didn't notice you were trying to close up. It's not that late, is it?" he asked, checking his watch.

"I guess time flies when you're having fun," said Harley, smiling at him as she gathered up her bag. Jack helped her on with her coat, and they headed outside.

They stood in awkward silence on the sidewalk for a few moments before Jack said, "Well, I should get you a cab home."

"Yeah," agreed Harley, nodding. "You could do that."

"Or…we could maybe have a drink," he said, nodding at a bar across the street.

Harley grinned. "I'd prefer that," she said, taking his offered arm. They entered the bar and ordered drinks, then headed over to a table to continue chatting. They both nursed their drinks slowly, and when their glasses were empty, there was another awkward pause.

"It's getting kinda late," said Jack, glancing at his watch again. "I should get you that cab…"

"Or we could have another drink," interrupted Harley, holding out her glass to him.

He grinned, standing up and heading back to the bar. Harley took a deep breath, trying to get ahold of herself and realize this date couldn't last forever. But she wanted it to last as long as possible – Jack was so sweet and funny, and she felt so happy around him. She couldn't bear to be parted from the happiness he gave her. Not yet.

It can't last, her brain reminded her as she finished another drink. The date had to end sometime, and she would have to go home. But they could always go out on another date soon. Leaving him didn't mean she wouldn't be happy again. It wasn't that big a deal. She was only prolonging the inevitable. But she shut out the rational part of her brain as Jack went to go get another round.

"I've had a great time tonight," she said to him as they finished their latest drinks. "Thank you for being so persistent in wanting to go out with me."

"Thank you for asking me out," he said, smiling at her. "You can see every guy in here looking at me jealously, right? They're all thinking, 'How did a slob like him end up out with a girl like her?' And I gotta admit, I'll be damned if I know. But I'm real glad that I am."

She beamed. "You want another round?" she asked, nodding at his empty glass.

"We shouldn't," he replied.

"No, we really shouldn't," she agreed, staring at him. He stared back, and their eyes drew their mouths together again. This kiss was different – the first one had been tender and exploratory, this one was passionate and desperate and full of wild and unrestrained feeling. Harley felt her body melting into his, her throbbing heartbeat pounding against his own. His hands crept onto her waist, his fingers gentle and tender but awakening fire everywhere he touched. She responded with more intense kisses, her own hands eagerly exploring his body.

"You wanna…maybe go someplace more private?" he whispered in her ear.

She drew away, grinning at him. "On the first date? I'm not sure what kinda girl you think I am."

"I'm sorry," he said, hastily. "I just thought…I mean…I didn't mean…we wouldn't have to…we could just make out some more if you want, if you're not comfortable…only I think our heavy petting is making the bar patrons pretty uncomfortable…"

"You're a thoughtful guy, for a criminal," she said, smiling at his nervousness. "Maybe you suggested going someplace more private because you don't want people to see a gal like me out with a guy like you."

"Yeah, that's it," he agreed. "Wouldn't wanna damage your reputation."

"Aren't you a gentleman?" she asked. "I mean, for a con man and a thief."

She savored the words – that's what Jack was. She was making out and being incredibly turned on by a con man and a thief, a criminal, a bad man who should be in jail. And that only made her even more excited.

She shoved her mouth back against his. "You wanna come home with me, criminal?" she whispered.

"Uh…is this a trick question?" he stammered. "Cause I think the answer is pretty obvious…"

She stood up, taking his hand. "Let's get that cab, then," she said, dragging him out of the bar.

Harley hailed a cab, gave her address to the driver, and then instantly returned to Jack's mouth. Their hands and mouths didn't separate the entire drive, and once they reached Harley's apartment, she instantly shoved him into the bedroom. He sat on the bed, pulling her down with him, and she straddled his lap, kissing him deeply.

"Harley…are you sure you want this?" he whispered, as she greedily began to unbutton his top.

"Sorry, have I been giving you mixed signals?" she demanded, kissing around his face and biting down on his earlobe.

"No, I just…" He trailed off.

She drew back, looking at his face, which was genuinely concerned. "What is it?" she asked. She felt his hands on her waist – they were shaking slightly. She gazed into his eyes and murmured, "Are you…scared?"

He nodded. "I'm terrified," he said. "It's…never meant this much to me before…it's never really meant anything to me before. And the fact that I'm here, with you, that a gal who's much too good for me wants me…"

He trailed off again. Harley climbed slowly off his lap and sat down next to him on the bed. She put a hand to his cheek and turned his face to hers. "You've actually let what Johnny said get to you, haven't you?" she asked, gently.

"It's not just him," he said. "It's something people have told me my whole life, and something I realized myself long ago. I am a pretty worthless guy, a loser, if you will. I know that, deep down. The only reason I gamble is because I hope that somehow if I win enough money, I'll stop being a loser. But I don't think even a whole lotta money changes who you are, not really. Even if I struck it rich tomorrow, I'd still be a worthless piece of criminal scum. And I'm not worthy of a gal like you. You must know that, deep down. You must be crazy to want this."

He stood up, running his fingers through his hair. "I mean…he's right, Dr. Crane. He said I don't have anything to offer you, because everything I am is insubstantial and meaningless. He's right about that, and what if he's right about the other thing? What if I am just feeling this way superficially? What if I do only want you to make myself feel better, to make me feel like less of a loser? What if I don't love you, and just want you as a prize to be won? My jackpot for tonight, but then…tomorrow I'll wake up being the same old loser. And you deserve much better than to wake up next to a loser."

He buttoned up his shirt. "I'm sorry I suggested this…I should go…"

"Stay," whispered Harley, gazing at him. "Please."

He turned to look at her. "I don't want you to go," she whispered. "You make me happy. That's what you have to offer me, Jack. It's the greatest gift a human being can give to another, and it's something that nobody I've ever met has been able to give me. Not my friends, not my colleagues, not any of the men I've dated. Only you. Only you have made me smile and laugh. I don't want to lose that ability again. I don't want to lose this happiness that you've given me. And if I'm crazy to want that, if I'm crazy to want you…then call me crazy. But stay."

He looked at her. "I love you," he whispered. "I'm more sure of that than I've ever been of anything in my life. But judging by my life, that's no guarantee of anything. What if I am just deceiving myself? What if what I'm feeling isn't real?"

"Take a chance that it is," she murmured. "And so will I. Let's take a gamble and find out together."

She held out her hand to him, and he took it, sitting down next to her on the bed again. Then she tentatively began to slide her dress down. She felt his hands on her shoulders, warming her shivering body. "You're scared too," he whispered.

She nodded. "It's scary to do something crazy. But scary in a good way, don't you think?"

She pulled her dress off, and he gazed at her. "Yeah," he whispered. "It's definitely good."

She giggled as he pulled her into his arms, pressing her down on the bed.

"Feel better now?" she asked, as they lay in each other's arms a few hours later.

"I feel like I'm the luckiest guy in the world right now," he replied, grinning. "Definitely hit the jackpot tonight. Which probably means I won't ever hit it again, but I don't care anymore. Not as long as I have you, Harley. There's no amount of money I could ever win that's more valuable to me than you are. I love you."

"You sure about that?" she asked, smiling at him.

"Absolutely," he said, kissing her tenderly.

She giggled, curling up against his chest. "I'm pretty crazy about you too, Jack," she said. "You're by far the best criminal I've ever dated."

"Also the worst, seeing as I'm the only one," he pointed out.

"True," she agreed. "But I think your performance would be hard for anyone to top, criminal or not."

He kissed her again. "Goodnight, Harley," he said, pulling her close. "Thank you for the wonderful evening."

"My pleasure, Jack," she said, yawning. "We should do this again sometime."

"You mean I've earned a second date?" he asked, grinning.

"I'll consider it," she replied, grinning back.

"This one will be difficult to top," he said.

"I'm sure a smooth criminal like you can do it if anyone can," said Harley.

He chuckled, cuddling her. "Anything for my sexy shrink."

"You keep calling me that and I'll come up with an even worse nickname for you, mark my words," retorted Harley.

"Now I'm kinda intrigued, my sexy shrink," he chuckled. "Challenge accepted. Goodnight, my sexy shrink."

Harley said nothing for a few moments, and then snuggled against him. "Night, puddin'," she purred.

He was silent, and then muttered, "Ok, you win."


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning, Harley stirred at a loud knocking on the front door. "You expecting company?" murmured Jack, his eyes shut as he cuddled her closer.

"No," she said, glancing at the clock. "But we should get up anyway – I got work in a couple hours. We should get a shower and make breakfast…"

"I think I'd rather skip breakfast and stay in bed," he interrupted, kissing her.

"Mmm, very tempting," she murmured, grinning as she returned his kisses. The knocking came again, loud and insistent.

"Whoever it is, they're a real mood-killer," muttered Jack, as Harley drew away reluctantly and reached for her robe.

"So let me get rid of 'em so we can get the mood back," she murmured, slipping on her robe and bending down to kiss him again. "Don't go anywhere."

She headed down the hall and opened the front door. And her face fell in shock and horror as she saw Pamela Isley standing there.

"Morning, Harley!" she said, cheerfully. "I thought we could go out for breakfast and you could tell me all about your terrible date. I mean, if it ended that early, he must have done something really bad to screw it up, huh? I can't wait to hear all about it!"

"Oh…uh…actually…Pam…I…" stammered Harley. "I…already had breakfast, so…"

"Ok, we can just stay in and talk," said Isley, pushing past her into the living room. "Probably best since you're not even dressed yet. So, how bad was it?" she asked, taking a seat on the sofa and looking up at her expectantly.

"Uh…you know, Pam, I'm actually not feeling that good," invented Harley, glancing toward the bedroom where she saw Jack climbing carefully out of bed and discreetly trying to dress. "Think I got food poisoning at the restaurant last night or something. I've…thrown up a few times this morning, and I'm probably gonna keep doing that, so…you don't wanna see that, so...you should probably go…"

"Oh, poor baby," said Isley, frowning sympathetically. "As if that disaster of a date didn't make you suffer enough! Well, don't you worry – Pammie's here to take care of you. Let me get you some carbonated water and some crackers, that'll help settle your stomach…" she said, heading for the kitchen.

"Oh no, you don't have to do that," said Harley, intercepting her. "Anyway, I won't be good company feeling like this, and I'd prefer to be left alone…I'll call you later when I'm feeling better and tell you all about the date, how about that?" she asked, trying to steer her toward the front door.

Jack was in the middle of pulling on his pants when he suddenly lost his balance, falling against the door and into the living room. He landed on the floor in front of Isley, and climbed slowly to his feet, smiling up at her horrified expression.

"Dr. Isley! Good morning! Great to see you again!" he said cheerfully, trying to pretend he wasn't just wearing his boxers.

Isley gaped at him. "Harley…what the hell is going on?" she gasped. "What's he doing here?"

"He…stayed the night," said Harley, slowly. "It was actually…a real good date, Pam…"

"You let him con you into sex on the first date?" demanded Isley, rounding on her furiously. "Don't you have any self-respect?"

"He didn't con me – it was a mutual thing…" began Harley.

"No, you only think it was!" interrupted Isley. "He's slick like that! But that's what these people do, Harley! They make you think you're in control while they take advantage of you! That's what scam artists do! I thought you were smarter than to fall for his game!"

"It's not a game," retorted Harley. "I love him."

She realized what she had said, and glanced at Jack, who stared at her in astonishment. Then he smiled. "Yeah?" he asked.

She blushed. "Yeah," she said.

"No, you don't!" shrieked Isley. "For God's sake, Harley, wake up and see what kinda guy he is, and what he's doing! He's playing you for a fool! And you're falling for it, hook, line, and sinker! I don't know what kinda story he told you, but I bet it was a nice sob story, something to make you feel real sorry for him! And a smooth operator like him uses sympathy and pity to trap you in his little con game, until one day you wake up and he's gone, taking everything and leaving you with nothing! Because that's what criminals do! They trick and they steal and they take, and nothing they say is the truth! And I won't let this crook make a fool outta you!"

"You don't know him, Pam," said Harley. "He loves me."

"Is that what he told you?" sneered Isley. "That he loves you, that he wants to be a better man for you, that he'll change for you, because you're different to anyone he's ever met, because you're the one?"

Harley stared at her. "How did you…"

"Because I've heard it all before, Harley!" shouted Isley. "I've dated bad boys before! I know his type, and I know all their tricks, and all the crap they say to get what they want! But once they have it, they're gone! And you're an idiot if you think he means one word of what he said to you!"

She stormed toward the door. "But fine, it's not my problem," she muttered. "It's yours. Just don't come crying to me when he leaves. I'll only say I told you so."

She slammed the door, leaving Jack and Harley alone. "Harley, it's not true," he said, gently. "She's wrong about me. I do love you, I swear to God, like I've never loved anyone…"

Harley said nothing. "You were right, Jack," she murmured. "She was a real mood-killer."

She headed into the bedroom to get dressed. The rational half of her mind thought Isley was probably right, and she felt foolish for having trusted the things Jack said. After all, a man like him would say anything – that was how he made his living. But her other, irrational half refused to believe what Isley said. Jack was different, and she loved him. It didn't make any sense that she loved him – it wasn't a smart thing to do. Any rational human being would have dismissed everything he said and told him to leave and never bother her again. But she couldn't help what she felt. And she didn't want to be rational anymore. She wanted to be crazy.

He had come into the room and was attempting to pull on his pants again. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

"Uh…getting dressed," he said, looking at her in confusion.

"Thought you wanted to stay in bed," she murmured, smiling at him.

He stared at her. "But I thought…after what she said…"

"I'd be crazy to trust you," she said, nodding. "Yeah. But I feel like being a little crazy."

He beamed in relief. "Oh God, I was afraid I'd lost you," he said, taking her in his arms. "I was afraid I was gonna be a loser again, and lose the best thing that ever happened to me."

"You won't," she said, kissing him. "I'm here to stay, Jack. I love you."

"Oh Harley, I love you too," he whispered, pressing her down on the bed.


	11. Chapter 11

They showered, dressed, and had a quick breakfast, after which they shared a cab to Arkham.

"Take a walk around the parking lot before you come in for your session," said Harley to Jack. "I don't want people to know we arrived at the same time."

"You don't think Dr. Isley will blab, do you?" asked Jack.

"I don't know why she would," replied Harley. "She's not cruel or vindictive, and I don't think she'd want to get me fired."

"But she does hate my guts," said Jack. "As does Dr. Crane. If he ever found out…"

Harley kissed him. "I told you, I'm sure a man like you can be discreet, can't you, Jack? There's no reason why anyone should ever find out."

"What about when I ask you to marry me?" he asked, grinning. "They might have to find out then."

"Not if I don't change my name," replied Harley, grinning back. "Although frankly, having to spell Quinzel my whole life has been a pain – maybe Napier's more common. Plus it would avoid those inevitable clown jokes."

"What clown jokes?" he asked.

"Harley Quinzel," said Harley. "It sounds kinda like harlequin. Everyone at school, college, and various bad dates all thought that was hilarious."

"To be fair, I kinda think it's hilarious too," said Jack. "I'll be thinking up some clown jokes in my walk around the parking lot."

"I can always revoke that offer of a second date, you know," retorted Harley.

He chuckled, pulling her close and kissing her deeply. "Have a good day at work, my sexy shrink."

"Have a good session, puddin'," she replied, grinning at him. "I'll see you later."

They kissed again, and then Harley reluctantly drew away and headed into the asylum.

Jack took a casual stroll around the parking lot, and then entered the lobby of Arkham Asylum. "Morning, Dolores!" he said, brightly.

"Jack, you're looking very cheerful today," commented Dolores, smiling at him.

"I'm always cheerful, toots," he replied. "The world's a bright, beautiful place, don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

"Your happiness is so infectious, Jack," said Dolores. "It's a shame Dr. Quinzel won't give you a chance. You're the type of guy it would be so easy to be in a relationship with – nothing would get you down, and you'd see the funny side of everything."

"Well, I try," said Jack, nodding. "And hopefully one day Dr. Quinzel will see that."

He remembered the wonderful evening and morning he shared with Dr. Quinzel as he waited for his session to start. The television in the lobby was playing the news, and Jack was suddenly distracted from his memories by the words "Salvatore Valestra."

He turned to face the screen. "District Attorney Harvey Dent says he's hoping to fast-track Salvatore Valestra's trial to a date before Christmas, so that he can, in Mr. Dent's own words, 'Ring in the New Year (and many more) behind bars.' Mr. Valestra's defense team is hoping to postpone the trial, but as we've seen from his impressive record as District Attorney, Mr. Dent is not a man who takes opposition lightly, nor concedes defeat at any price."

Jack frowned. If the trial was coming that soon, it was clearly time to pay a visit to Harvey Dent before Dent sent men out looking for him to join the ones already looking for him from Valestra. Bad timing, he thought to himself, just as things were getting started with Harley. But in his experience, when things were finally going your way, something unpleasant always came along to screw them up somehow.

He was determined not to focus on that right now, though. He was going to his session, and then he would go see Dent right after. They would get this trial out of the way, and Jack would be free of his obligation to him. Valestra would be put away for good, and then nothing would stand in Jack's way of being happy with Harley, which would be a great way to start their new year, and hopefully many more, together.

He nodded in resolution just as Dr. Crane appeared in the lobby. "Mr. Napier, what a pleasure to see you again," he said, in the most insincere tone Jack had ever heard. "If you'll follow me to my office, we'll just get started on your session."

Jack obeyed. They passed Harley's office on the way, and her door was open. She looked up and smiled at Jack, and he smiled back, before Crane slammed the door to his office shut.

About half an hour through the excruciating mix of boredom and offense that made up Dr. Crane's session, there was a knock on his door. Harley popped her head inside. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Johnny, but can I just borrow Mr. Napier for a moment?" she asked. "That private problem he mentioned to me the other day, I've had some more time to think it over and I'd like to discuss it with him."

"Of course, Harley," said Crane, clearly annoyed. "No problem at all."

"Thanks," said Harley. Jack stood up and followed her, hoping he didn't look too eager. The moment they were alone in her office and she had shut the door, she threw herself into his arms and kissed him.

"It's harder than I thought, having you just across the hall and having to somehow keep my hands off you," she murmured, grinning at him as she drew away. "You're a hard man to resist, Mr. Napier."

"I do my best to be irresistible, toots," he chuckled, kissing her again. She slid her hand down to his pants, and he looked at her, surprised.

"What…here?" he stammered. "Now? In your office?"

"As long as you won't be too noisy, or take too long to make Dr. Crane suspicious," she replied with a grin as she unbuttoned her top. "I told you, you're a hard man to resist."

"And you're a bad girl," he murmured, kissing her repeatedly. "I like that."

She giggled as he pushed her down on the therapy couch. About ten minutes later, Jack returned to Dr. Crane's office. "Did you get your problem settled with Dr. Quinzel?" asked Crane. "I don't want to keep having my sessions interrupted, you know."

"Oh, well, see, it's kinda a complex problem," said Jack. "Might need several more intensive sessions, and who knows if it'll even be resolved then? The human mind is a complex and irrational thing, Dr. Crane."

"Don't presume to tell me about the human mind," snapped Crane. "I have a doctorate in the human mind, and you dropped out of high school."

"True," agreed Jack. He wanted to retort, "But I'm in a relationship with Dr. Quinzel, which your fancy degree couldn't get you, so who's the real winner here?" but managed to hold his tongue. It was important that no one found out, for both their sakes. He certainly doubted Harley's superiors would approve of her having a quickie with a patient in her office. For her, he would be the soul of discretion. If she could control herself by not borrowing him for quickies every day, of course, he thought with a smile. Not that he was complaining.

"What on earth are you smiling about?" demanded Crane suddenly, startling him out of his thoughts.

"Just at the progress I've made with Dr. Quinzel," said Jack. "She's a helluva shrink, as well as being a helluva woman. Maybe I could transfer over and be her patient full-time…"

"I'm not going to allow that," snapped Crane. "She shouldn't have to put up with your awkward and unwanted advances. If I can spare the poor girl that by putting up with the inconvenience of having you as my patient, it's really the least I can do."

"You're a real hero for doing your job, Dr. Crane," said Jack, sarcastically. "How can Dr. Quinzel possibly resist a guy like you?"

"As long as she resists a guy like you, I'm happy," retorted Crane.

Jack would have given anything to make him unhappy by telling him the truth, but Harley's position was more important than any smug satisfaction he could have in lording his relationship over Dr. Crane. Which, more than anything else, proved he truly loved her.


	12. Chapter 12

"Mr. Napier. I must say, I'm surprised to see you," said Harvey Dent, as Jack Napier strode into his office. "I was certain you'd try and weasel out of our little bargain somehow."

"I'm turning over a new leaf, Harv," said Jack, smiling at him. "I'm a man of my word now."

"Really?" asked Dent, raising his eyebrows. "And what has brought about this miraculous transformation?"

"My girl," replied Jack, taking a seat. "The one I needed out of jail for. She's just the best, and I promised her I'd be better for her. Although she can be a bad girl sometimes, and I love it when she is," he chuckled.

"Well, there's no accounting for taste on her part, I suppose," retorted Dent. "I'm glad she got you here anyway. Much as I hate to admit it, you're fairly central to my plan for putting Valestra away for good. Nobody else is stupid enough to testify against him."

"Maybe nobody else has anyone else to be stupid for," retorted Jack.

"I just hope you've discussed funeral arrangements with this girl of yours," said Dent. "She'll probably need to know your plans, just in case. Now, I have a list of heinous crimes I want you to testify as having witnessed Sal Valestra commit. I need you to memorize these things, and add your own talent for storytelling in order to make them stick. I know a man who spends his life conning others has a good flair for dramatics, and can take an audience in. Or a jury."

Jack scanned the list Dent handed him. "Do you actually think a jury is going to believe I witnessed all of this first-hand?" he asked. "It's not like I'm a long-term associate or friend of the guy or anything – he probably wouldn't gun down a buncha people in front of me and just let me go."

"I think you'll find the average person isn't too familiar with the workings of the mob," retorted Dent. "Also, the average person doesn't think too hard if you appeal to their emotions. That's what this whole testimony is designed to appeal to, and with your talent at manipulating people's feelings, it should be easily done. Just look sincere. I assume you have practice doing that."

"Yeah, but…I kinda promised my girl that I'd turn over a new leaf," said Jack, slowly. "No more lying and conning people."

"Well, you can keep that promise to her and go to prison," said Dent. "Or you can break it and remain a free man who's actually able to interact with her. I would say it's your choice, Mr. Napier, but it's really not at this point. You do this, or you go to prison, and I'll be telling everyone in there who it was who snitched on Salvatore Valestra. Your chances of survival for any length of time will be unlikely at best."

Jack glared at him. "You drive a hard bargain, Harv."

"I didn't get to be DA of this city by being nice to people," retorted Dent. "I got this position by being tough on criminal scum, and I don't intend to turn over a new leaf when I've got Sal Valestra in my grasp. Just memorize that list with appropriate embellishment. And then meet back here in a couple days to rehearse the whole thing."

"A couple days?" repeated Jack. "When's the trial?"

"With any luck, next week," retorted Dent. "I'm just waiting on the good news any moment now."

As if by magic, the door opened. "Mr. Dent, the trial date has been agreed upon, and set," said Dent's aide. "Next Friday, as you requested."

Dent smiled. "When I'm good, I'm very, very good," he sighed. "This bodes well for the trial. If Valestra's lawyers can't even postpone the date, I'm not at all sure of their effectiveness in court. This might be a very short, efficient trial after all."

"I dunno, Harv – Sal's a pretty slippery character," commented Jack. "I'm sure he has something up his sleeve for the trial if he let his lawyers agree to the date that quickly. He clearly thinks the sooner it's done with, the sooner he's free. Maybe he's got something on the judge he intends to use."

"Mr. Napier, I'll thank you not to tell me my own business," snapped Dent. "I can assure you, he has nothing on the judge – Maria Vargas is a close personal friend, and squeaky clean."

"Whatever, I just think him agreeing to an early trial is a pretty bad sign," said Jack.

"Well, fortunately nobody cares what you think, Mr. Napier," snapped Dent. "You're not here to think. You're here to memorize that list, and perform when instructed."

"Like a circus animal," said Jack.

"Yes, exactly," said Dent, nodding. "And animals don't think. They just do what they're told. So be a good little performing monkey and memorize your routine for the jury."

Jack scanned the paper again. "Really? I saw him murder a family with kids in cold blood? Why would he ever do that in front of me and then leave me alive to tell people about it? Why not finish the job and leave no witnesses, as long as he's getting rid of people?"

"I told you, Mr. Napier, most juries don't know the ins and outs of how the mob works," retorted Dent. "They just assume that all criminals are unthinking madmen who don't have to do things that make sense."

"But a good lawyer, or even a half-decent one, will pick up on things like this as not making any sense and point them out," said Jack. "The secret to successfully lying to people is to make sure the details are convincing and that your story's believable. And this ain't a believable story. You should let me improvise a better one."

"I don't trust you to improvise from scratch," retorted Dent. "The only person I trust in securing this conviction for Valestra is me. I'm the best DA this city has ever had, and you're an incompetent petty felon who had to make a terrible plea bargain to stay out of jail. I think I know what's best in this situation."

"You know, they say that pride goeth before the fall, Harvey," said Jack.

"Why don't you spare me the platitudes, Mr. Napier?" snapped Dent. "Just do as you're told and memorize that list."

Jack sighed heavily. "Fine. But I got a bad feeling about this approach, and this whole trial. Something just doesn't sit right – I can feel it in my gut."

"We'll trust my brains over your gut if you don't mind," retorted Dent. "Mark my words, I will see Valestra behind bars permanently, or my name isn't Harvey Dent."

"Well, confidence is key in achieving goals," agreed Jack. "I never woulda got my dame without it, and she's the best thing that's ever happened to me. All I want is for this trial to be over and done with as soon as possible, so I can be through with crime forever and just be happy with her."

"At least we both agree on wanting this trial over and done with quickly," said Dent. "But I'm a man of my word, Mr. Napier. You do this testifying act properly, and I'll leave you alone. And if you're serious about turning over a new leaf, which I sincerely doubt, by the way, then I don't expect to ever see you again."

"Yeah, hope you won't miss me too much, Harv," chuckled Jack. "Anyway, best get to work on memorizing my lines. I'll have the audience in tears, which isn't my usual skill, by the way. I'm much better at moving the audience to laughter."

"They're probably laughing at you," retorted Dent. "But do try to resist your comedic urges during the trial, Mr. Napier."

"Don't worry about that, Harvey," muttered Jack, heading for the door. "I got a feeling nobody is gonna be laughing at this trial of yours. Even though this whole thing sounds like a circus to me, I don't think anybody will be sending in the clowns. At least, I hope not."

"What on earth are you talking about?" demanded Dent.

Jack sighed. "Don't they teach you anything in law school? Back in the day, when circus acts were hugely dangerous with no safety nets, whenever a horrible or fatal accident occurred, the circus folk would send in the clowns to distract from the tragedy. They thought a few smiling faces and silly gags would make people forget about pain and misery and death. And I gotta say, it's always worked for me!" he chuckled.

"Believe me, Mr. Napier, there will be no pain and misery at the trial that puts Sal Valestra away for life," retorted Dent.

"I hope you're right, Harvey," sighed Jack. "I really do."


	13. Chapter 13

Jack went straight from Dent's office to Harley's apartment. He knocked on the door and the instant it was opened, Harley threw herself into his arms, kissing him passionately.

"I missed you," she whispered.

"Oh baby, I missed you too," he murmured, kissing her. "I can't tell you how much."

"How'd your meeting with the DA go?" she asked.

"Oh, it was…fine," said Jack, forcing a smile. "Just got some work to do before the trial next week," he said, patting the paper in his pocket.

"Next week?" repeated Harley, surprised. "That's awfully quick. Don't these big time criminals usually try and drag these things out?"

"Yeah, they do," agreed Jack. "Which is why I got a bad feeling about this one. Harvey thinks the early date is all due to his talent, but I think Valestra's playing with him. I think he's got something planned for the trial."

"Like what?" asked Harley, looking worried. "You won't be in any danger, will you, Jack? I couldn't bear if anything happened to you."

He forced another smile. "Hey, I'm probably worrying for nothing – I'm sure it'll all be fine," he said. "Harvey's probably smarter than I give him credit for. I just think he's an idiot because he doesn't like me, so how smart can he be, really?"

"Well, obviously not as smart as me," said Harley, grinning and kissing him again. She drew away, gazing at him and then giggling.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said. "It's just…the few hours we've been apart, I kinda slipped back into my normal, miserable self. But the moment you get here, it's like…the sun's come out from behind the clouds again, and everything is bright and beautiful. You're my happiness, Jack. That's crazy, huh?"

"Uh huh," he agreed. "But I do love a crazy dame."

She giggled again, and kissed him. "I kinda want food, but then I also kinda want you," she murmured. "You want sex before or after dinner?"

"Why not both?" he asked, grinning.

"Mmm, greedy," she said, continuing to kiss him.

"You can't blame me," he said. "Depending on how this trial goes, I might not have much time left with you."

She drew away from him. "Don't joke about it," she said. "Losing you is not a joke to me, Jack."

"Aw, c'mon, baby," he said, smiling at her. "You know me – I'm a lucky guy now. I wouldn't have believed that before I met you, but now that I have you, I feel like a whole different person. A person who ain't a loser, a person who has luck on his side. My luck's not gonna change back now, not with you with me."

Harley said nothing, but reached into his pocket and removed the list Dent had given him. "Jack…these are some pretty big lies he wants you to tell," she said slowly.

"Baby, don't tell me that a shrink who slept with a patient in her office today is concerned about ethics!" chuckled Jack.

"It's not the ethics that bother me," she said. "Sal Valestra deserves to be locked up for the good of everyone in this city. I agree with Dent in that the ends justify the means in this case. I'm just…worried about you. What if something does go wrong at the trial, and Valestra is acquitted somehow? You don't think he's gonna come after you for this?"

"He was already after me, kid," replied Jack. "I swindled him outta five grand. If he already wants me dead, lying about this stuff isn't gonna make a difference."

Harley stared at him. "What if…you could pay him back, Jack? What if you could find one of his people, and pay him the money you owe, and not testify? He wouldn't want you dead then, would he?"

"Even if I had the money, which I don't, Dent won't let me back outta this deal now," said Jack. "Even if I got Sal off my back, I'd have Dent on it, and he'd put me away forever outta spite for this. Plus he kinda hinted he'd let everyone in prison know I snitched on Sal. I wouldn't last a week in there."

"We could leave Gotham," said Harley. "Go somewhere far away, where neither Dent nor Valestra can find us."

"Us?" he repeated. "Harley, you're not thinking straight. First of all, you got a great job and a great life here. You'd be crazy to wanna give it up for some guy you barely know, some guy you've been on one date with…"

"I told you, I wanna be crazy," she whispered. "And you're not some guy I barely know. You're the man I love. I wanna help you. I don't wanna see you hurt…"

"Baby, I promise you, I'll be fine," he said, gently wiping away her tears which had begun to fall. "And I ain't so selfish as to ruin your life just because I've mostly ruined mine. Except for the part which involves you, of course," he added with a grin.

She said nothing, but headed over to her bag. She pulled out her checkbook and wrote something down. Then she handed him the check. "Here," she said. "It's for five thousand dollars. Cash it, take it to Valestra's guys, and then let's leave Gotham. Let's leave this city of gloom and misery and go somewhere where we can be happy together. Where you can start over. Please, Jack."

He shook his head slowly. "I ain't taking your money, Harley."

"You would have stolen from me when we first met, and now you won't accept a gift?" she asked.

"That's right," he said, nodding. "I won't take from the woman I love. That's not what a good man would do. And I'm gonna be a good man for you, Harley. I'm gonna hold up my end of the bargain with Dent. I'm gonna keep my word, and put a dangerous man behind bars. And then we can go anywhere you want, anywhere in the world. We can leave Gotham if that's what you truly want to do. But I'm not fleeing this city like a criminal. If I leave it, I'm leaving it of my own volition, as a free, good man, with the woman I love. Otherwise I'm staying, because it's the right thing to do."

Harley forced a smile through her tears. "It's quite a change, isn't it?" she asked. "Me wanting to do bad, and you wanting to do good?"

"I guess we both bring out the best in each other," he replied with a grin.

She sobbed, and kissed him again, tenderly and deeply. "Promise me," she whispered. "Promise me if things start to feel wrong in that courtroom, at the first hint of trouble…you'll get the hell outta there. Promise me you'll be safe, and come back to me."

"I promise," he whispered. "But nothing's gonna go wrong. And once it's over, we'll be free, Harley. No more crimes, no more scams, just two decent, honest people building a life together."

Harley grinned. "Well…hopefully not too decent. I don't wanna miss my smooth criminal too much."

"Oh, I'll still be smooth, sweets," he chuckled. "And I'll always be the criminal who stole your heart."

"Was that you trying to be smooth?" asked Harley, raising an eyebrow. "Because I'd say that's already gone if that's the best you can do."

"I'll show you the best I can do, you little minx," he retorted. "Both before and after dinner."

Harley giggled again as he pulled her into the bedroom – it was just impossible for her to be too unhappy for long in Jack's company. And although she was worried about this trial, her worries faded in comparison to her incredible happiness at being around Jack. Nothing else seemed important, and all worries seemed like distant and irrational fears because of his almost magical ability to make her smile and laugh.

It was this ability, and being in his presence, that got Harley through her days now. Jack had intensified his sessions with Dr. Crane so that he came to Arkham almost every day, and Harley usually borrowed Jack for a few moments before and after his sessions, and sometimes during.

She came into work a few days before the trial in her usual cheerful mood – her smile rarely left her face these days. Dolores had certainly noticed this, and tried to press her for information as to the reason for her improved mood. Harley always had some excuse at the ready, but Dolores wasn't the only one who had noticed Harley's changed and cheerful demeanor.

Harley stood at the coffee machine in the break room, whistling to herself as she remembered the previous night and morning with Jack, and counting down the hours until his session when she could see him again.

"Good morning, Harley," said a voice.

She turned and beamed at Dr. Crane, who joined her at the coffee machine. "Morning, Johnny!" she said. "How are you doing today?"

"Oh, I could be better," he sighed. "I have another session with Mr. Napier today, which I'm dreading."

"Really?" asked Harley, casually. "How come? Mr. Napier is always very charming to me – he's certainly not unpleasant company."

"I suspect he might act differently around the two of us," replied Crane. "Anyway, I don't feel like we're making much progress – I'm thinking about recommending he transfers to another facility."

"Well, he could always just transfer doctors," said Harley, lightly. "I'd be happy to take him."

"Wouldn't that be rather unprofessional?" he asked. "You knowing him in a personal context, I mean."

"Well, I don't know him very well," replied Harley. "We met once briefly before he came here for therapy…"

"And yet he seems to open up to you," said Crane. "I mean, the way you always want to discuss his therapy with him during our sessions must mean that he confides in you much more than he does in me."

"I guess," said Harley, shrugging. "You know some people open up more to women doctors, Johnny. I guess people think we're more sympathetic."

"Well, I daresay you are," he replied, pouring the coffee into his mug. "I just…don't want you to get into any trouble, Harley," he said, slowly.

"What do you mean?" asked Harley.

"I mean…I wouldn't want your relationship with Mr. Napier to ever be anything more than strictly professional," said Crane. "And I'm afraid that if he spends a lot of time alone with you, he might…attempt to seduce you."

Harley forced a laugh. "Johnny, I'm not a baby," she said. "I can certainly tell a man no. Anyway, I don't think Mr. Napier would ever attempt anything of the kind – he doesn't seem like that kinda guy to me."

"Appearances can be deceiving," said Crane. "He has expressed his feelings toward you to me, and he is quite infatuated with you. It's not improbable that he might attempt something if left alone with you for long periods of time."

"I think Mr. Napier's feelings toward me fall under the heading of doctor-patient confidentiality, Johnny," said Harley. "And probably shouldn't be shared with me."

"I'm sharing them with you because I want you to be careful around him," said Crane. "He's not the type of man who would be good for you, Harley."

Harley wanted to tell him the truth – that Jack was exactly the type of man who was good for her, the only man who could make her indescribably happy. She wanted to tell him that Jack had changed her life completely in so short a time, that he had made her find the happiness she had thought she had lost long ago. She wanted to tell him that no man could possibly be better for her, that if Jack wasn't good for her, nobody could be. But she held her tongue and nodded. "Well…thank you for your concern, Johnny," she said, taking her coffee and heading back to her office.

The hours until Jack's session seemed interminable for Harley. She kept tapping her foot and chewing on her pen and glancing at the clock in anticipation. At last, about ten minutes after Jack's session should have started, Harley could wait no longer. She headed across the hall and knocked on Dr. Crane's door.

"Harley, what a pleasure to see you in my session again," said Crane, clearly insincerely. "You need to borrow Mr. Napier again, I suppose?"

"Just for a moment, Johnny," she said, smiling at him. "I'll have him back in five minutes, I promise."

"Five minutes?" repeated Jack, the instant the door to Harley's office shut, leaving them alone. "I gotta work fast."

"Yes, you do," she whispered, kissing his face repeatedly as she worked to remove his clothing. "But you don't know how much I need you right now."

"I'm getting an inkling," he said, returning her kisses as he fumbled with her own clothing.

They were mostly undressed with their mouths locked together when there was a knock on Harley's door, and a second later, Dr. Crane opened it.

"Harley, I've held my tongue thus far, but I honestly think any information my patient is sharing with you should be shared with both of us…" he began, but then his eyes fell on the sight inside the office and he froze, staring at them in shock and horror.

"Johnny, it's…it's not what you think…" stammered Harley, trying to cover herself.

"It's exactly what I think," gasped Crane. "You've let him seduce you."

"No, he didn't…" began Harley.

"You've let a patient seduce you," interrupted Crane. "Do you understand the magnitude of what you've done, Harley? Do you understand the consequences of your actions?"

Harley looked back at him, and nodded slowly. "Yes," she said. "But I love him, Johnny. I love him."

Crane shook his head slowly. "No. No, it's not possible. It's his doing somehow – he's tricked you, scammed you, conned you into doing this, like the criminal he is!"

"No, he hasn't!" shouted Harley. "And I'm sick of people saying that! I'm sick of people thinking I don't know my own feelings, or that I don't know the man I'm in love with! I'm not some dumb kid, and I know what I feel! I know it's real, and I know it's the best thing that's ever happened to me! And nothing anyone can say or do is going to make me stop loving Jack! I won't give him up, not for anything!"

Crane stared at her a few moments, and then his eyes grew hard and cold. "As you say, Harley," he said, turning and striding from the room. "But we will see."


	14. Chapter 14

For a few days, nothing happened. Things continued on as normal in Arkham, except that Jack no longer attended his sessions with Dr. Crane. In fact, Jack didn't go anywhere near Arkham, which made Harley's days there very long and miserable. She also noticed that the other employees there began to look at her strangely, and she heard them whispering behind her back. All except Dolores, who just beamed at Harley whenever she saw her, and said, "I'm so glad you gave Jack a chance. I think you make a really cute couple."

"Thanks, but I think you're the only one," replied Harley.

"Don't listen to them," said Dolores, nodding at a couple of passing doctors. "Jack's a great guy, and you're really lucky to have him. Don't let anyone make you feel differently about that."

"I won't," said Harley, smiling at her. "And I know he is."

Jack had offered to go straight to the head doctor at Arkham, Dr. Bartholomew, and tell him that Harley was completely innocent of any wrongdoing – Jack had wanted to take the blame completely, to tell him that he forced her, or threatened her somehow so she felt she had to go along with it. But Harley had refused to allow him to lie about their relationship, or deny the fact that she was in love with him. Anyway, she knew she could never convincingly lie about it to Dr. Bartholomew's face if questioned. If there had to be consequences for her actions, she was fully prepared to face them.

Nevertheless, she was riddled with anxiety the day of Sal Valestra's trial, not just for Jack, but also because she had received a request from Dr. Bartholomew for a meeting in his office. She knew Crane must have told him about her involvement with Jack, and she knew she was in serious trouble.

Still, she tried to remain calm as she entered Dr. Bartholomew's office. "You wanted to see me, sir?" she asked.

"Yes, please sit down, Dr. Quinzel," he said, gesturing to a chair. "I've received a worrying report from Dr. Crane accusing you of being romantically involved with a patient here. Is that true?"

Harley nodded slowly. "Yes. I am…currently in a relationship with Dr. Crane's patient, Jack Napier."

"Dr. Crane claims that…certain physical aspects of your and Mr. Napier's relationship have taken place in your office here – he claims to have walked in on you engaged in intercourse," said Dr. Bartholomew, scanning the paper. He removed his glasses, looking up at Harley sternly.

"I don't think I need to impress upon you the seriousness of what you have done," continued Dr. Bartholomew. "Do you have anything you'd like to say to defend your conduct?"

Harley looked down at her hands. "I love him," she said. "When he's here and I'm with him…the world is bright and beautiful, and I'm happy. When I'm parted from him, it's not, and I'm completely miserable. I've spent so much of my time here being completely miserable, and the thought of him being so close, across the hall in Dr. Crane's office, when I'm stuck alone in mine, so close to the happiness only Jack can give me…" She trailed off, shrugging. "It's too difficult to resist. Like tempting a starving person with food, or a prisoner with freedom. That's what Jack is - he frees me to be happy, to be me. I know it sounds crazy – I know it doesn't make any objective sense. I know it's not what people should do, and I know it's not professional. But nothing else seems important compared to Jack. Not my job, not anything about my life. I suppose I…forgot what it was like to feel happy, and Jack reminds me. Jack's my happiness. And I don't think you can blame someone for wanting to be happy. At least, I don't blame myself."

"I certainly blame you for engaging in sexual activity at your place of work and during work hours," retorted Dr. Bartholomew. "I'm afraid there's no place for you here anymore, Dr. Quinzel."

She stared at him. "You mean…you're firing me?"

"Yes," he said, writing something down on a paper. "For gross unprofessionalism with a patient. I'm sorry things had to end like this, Dr. Quinzel, but you did bring it on yourself. You should have done the sensible thing, and exercised more restraint."

Harley nodded slowly. "Yes. I guess that would have been the sensible thing to do."

She stood up, taking the slip of paper from him. "Please clean out your office and be gone before noon," said Dr. Bartholomew, casting his eyes back down to his desk. "Goodbye, Dr. Quinzel."

Harley nodded again, heading for the door with a lump in her throat. She returned to her office and slowly began gathering up her things as the tears trailed down her face. Her door suddenly burst open and Dr. Crane rushed into the room.

"Harley, I'm so sorry, I didn't think…I didn't think they'd fire you!" he exclaimed. "I thought there would be some disciplinary action, of course, but nothing this extreme! I just thought it would impress upon you the seriousness and foolishness of your actions…"

"Thanks, Johnny, but it's a little late for your apology," murmured Harley. "The damage is done, and my career as a psychiatrist is over. I have to leave here before noon."

"No, Harley, I won't let him do this to you!" said Crane, seizing her shoulders. "I'll go talk to Dr. Bartholomew, say I made false accusations…"

"So you can be fired instead of me?" interrupted Harley. "No, thanks, Johnny. I'd rather be gone anyway than spend any more time here listening to the whispering and the rumors. Whatever else you've done, you've ruined my reputation here, so it's best that I go. After today, Jack and I are planning on leaving Gotham forever anyway. This way we'll both be able to make a fresh start together."

"No, Harley, you can't go!" exclaimed Crane.

"Why? Because you never told me you loved me?" demanded Harley, glaring up at him. "I know, Johnny. Jack told me. But if you really loved me, you wouldn't have done what you did."

"What else could I do?" he demanded. "Seeing you with that…that…criminal was maddening…I couldn't just let you continue with your insanity!"

"In my experience, that's what love is," replied Harley. "It's crazy. But if it's any consolation, Johnny, I don't hate you for what you did. I understand the insane acts that love drives us to more than anyone. I guess you just listened to your heart just like I did, and I won't blame you for that. I'm sorry I don't feel the same way about you that you do about me, but maybe it'll be easier for you to get over me now that I'm gone. Out of sight and out of mind, isn't that the saying?"

"You think I could ever forget you, Harley?" he demanded. "It's not just my feelings for you – you're the best psychiatrist I've ever worked with! I can't ruin your life like this – because of my actions, you'll never be able to practice again!"

"Well, that's probably true," agreed Harley. "But as Jack always says, no point in being miserable about these things. Just keep smiling and things will turn out for the best. I've gotta cling on to his optimism now – I've got nothing else left."

"Harley, please reconsider!" Crane begged. "Don't throw your life away on that man! He can't possibly bring you anything but misery and unhappiness…"

"No, he's the only person in my life who's ever been able to make me happy, totally and completely," interrupted Harley. "Again, I'm sorry, Johnny. Don't blame yourself for what's happened – it's my fault, and I don't regret the choices that I've made. Somehow, I hope this'll all turn out for the best."

She kissed his cheek. "Goodbye, Johnny," she said, heading for the door with her box.

She passed the reception on her way out. "Bye, Dolores," she said. "I guess I won't be seeing you again."

"Probably not," agreed Dolores. "But I don't blame you for anything you've done, Harley. Tell Jack that I hope you'll both be very happy together."

Harley managed a smile. "We will," she said, heading for the door. "I'm sure whatever else happens, we will."


	15. Chapter 15

As it was early afternoon, Harley decided to drive straight from Arkham to the courthouse, to see how Jack's trial was going. She had nothing else to do with her time now that she was out of a job, she thought. And this way, after the trial was over, she and Jack could leave immediately together. She parked in front of the courthouse, and then crept quietly into the public gallery to watch the trial.

Jack was in the middle of testifying, and Harley gazed at him as he held the jury spellbound. He had always been a good actor, she thought with a smile, except for when he had made up that ridiculous excuse for stealing her wallet. It was love that made him sincere, she thought, which she supposed was a good quality in a man.

Harvey Dent stepped forward to cross-examine Jack – all in order to strengthen his story, of course. Things were going exactly according to plan, from what Harley could see. She glanced over to Sal Valestra, surrounded by his lawyers, who was looking at both Jack and Dent with almost a look of amusement on his face. But there was no amusement in his cold, glittering dark eyes, which fixed on them both like the barrel of a gun about to fire a bullet.

Sal Valestra was called to the stand next, to be examined by Harvey Dent. "Mr. Valestra, you've heard what Mr. Napier has testified against you – do you have any response you'd like to give?" asked Dent.

"He's lying," said Valestra, shrugging. "That's what a weasel like him does. I don't know how much you paid the lying rat, Dent, but whatever it was, it won't be enough to save him."

"Save him?" repeated Dent. "From whom? You? A prisoner of this court, who, God willing, the jury will be putting away for a long, long time?"

"From me," said Valestra, nodding. "You think you're so smart, don't you, pretty boy?" he asked, grinning at Dent. "You think the law is some kinda all-powerful, unstoppable force, like a superhero or something? Well, the law ain't that. It's flexible and slippery and ultimately meaningless. It's a net filled with so many holes that everything it tries to catch just slips through it. You think a guy like me is actually powerless against your law and order? You think I don't got friends in high places, friends who will help me slip outta every trap you try and catch me with? Everything you fight for, everything you believe in, it's all completely pointless. Because smart people, real smart people, pretty boy, aren't held back by flimsy things like law and order. Smart people play their own games, and make their own rules. And Salvatore Valestra is a lot smarter than you, Dent, and all your lying little stooges. Being arrested has been a minor inconvenience, but it's worth it all just to see the look on your face. Or what's gonna be left of it anyway."

He suddenly flung something at Dent, something liquid that collided with his face. There was a sickening burning, hissing sound, and then Dent started screaming, clawing at his flesh.

Just before Valestra had thrown the acid, Harley had noticed a man near her in the gallery standing up and heading toward the front of the courtroom. Now she saw him reach for something on his belt – it was a gun, which he drew out and aimed toward the prosecutor's table...

Harley stood up, shrieking, "Jack, look out!"

She was just in time – the man fired the gun at Jack, who hit the ground, the bullet whizzing above his head. He gazed up at her, stunned and suddenly terrified for her safety.

"Harley!" he gasped, trying to reach her, but by this time, the man shooting in the gallery had been joined by others, surrounding the courtroom on all sides and firing into the crowd. It was chaos as people screamed and trampled each other to get out, while Dent lay writhing on the floor, clutching his face.

Salvatore Valestra calmly stepped out of the witness box, lighting a cigarette and watching as Jack, heedless of his safety, raced toward Harley with the bullets flying around him. "Harley, get out of here!" he shouted, as she ducked behind the shelter of a column, her heart pounding.

"Not without you!" she shrieked, reaching out her hand for him. He had almost reached her, when a bullet hit his ankle, causing him to stumble to the ground, gasping in pain.

"Jack!" Harley screamed, hurrying toward him and trying to help him up.

"Harley, go!" he begged, gazing up at her. "Please go!"

"I won't leave you!" she cried.

She was suddenly seized from behind by a rough-looking man. She struggled against him, but he held her firmly around the waist, his other hand around her mouth.

"No need for that, sweetheart," said an unpleasant voice, as she saw Sal Valestra approaching them both. The shooting had stopped – the courtroom was empty, save for the bodies of those who had been shot, a now unconscious Harvey Dent, Sal Valestra and his men, and her and Jack.

Valestra calmly tapped out his cigarette, and then inhaled deeply from it, smiling at her. "No need to leave him," he repeated. "We'll take you with him. Where he goes, you'll go, how about that?"

"Yeah, to hell," muttered one of the men, putting his gun to Jack's forehead.

"No, Buzz, I've changed my mind," said Valestra, batting the gun away from Jack. "Shooting's far too quick for a man who testifies lies about Salvatore Valestra. That kinda betrayal deserves a punishment worse than death."

"Sal, you do what you want with me!" gasped Jack. "But let her go! She's not involved in this – she's completely innocent!"

"No, I'm afraid she's not," said Valestra, grinning as he exhaled his cigarette. "You see, she loves you, and you love her. Any woman who would risk being shot for a guy, who runs straight into danger to save him when she could have run and saved herself, obviously loves him. And that's a beautiful, touching thing, Jack, it really is. It's also very useful in hurting people, love – makes it so simple. That's the funny irony about life – the greatest form of pleasure, and the greatest form of pain comes from the people we love. And Jack, I'm sorry to have to break it to you, but I'm not a very nice guy. And I'm afraid that rather than punish you for what you've done against me, I'm gonna punish your girl instead. And make you watch. And maybe then I'll let you die, if I'm feeling generous. But I'm not a generous man, Jack. You'll regret double-crossing me before the end. Or at least, your girl will."

He gestured to the men. "Bring them both. We'll take 'em to a very atmospheric place for the kinda fun I have in mind."

Harley and Jack were dragged into the back of a van waiting at the rear of the courthouse. The doors were slammed, locked, and then the vehicle drove off into the streets of Gotham.

They were silent as they huddled next to each other. "I'm so sorry, Harley," whispered Jack. "I'm so sorry I got you dragged into this."

"You didn't," she said. "I chose to go to the trial, and I chose not to run…"

"What were you doing there?" asked Jack. "I thought you were at work."

Harley forced a smile. "They fired me," she said.

Jack stared at her. "Fired you?" he repeated. "Because of me?"

"Because of me," she said, nodding. "It wasn't your fault, Jack."

"Yes, it is," he muttered. "Everything is. You losing your job, you ending up in this mess…"

"Jack, it's always been my choice," she interrupted. "Don't blame yourself. It's not like you have some kinda irresistible charm or anything," she added with a grin.

"God, I wish I didn't," he murmured. "I wish I hadn't tried to steal your wallet, I wish I hadn't followed you to Arkham and pressured you to go out with me…"

"You regret our relationship?" she asked.

"I regret anything that's caused you pain," he replied.

She took his face in her hands. "Listen to me," she whispered. "I love you. And even if we're about to die, at least we're dying together. That's the only way I want to go. You gave my life meaning and purpose and happiness. I don't regret that at all. Before I met you, I never smiled. And now I'm smiling even now, in these grim circumstances. You gave me that, Jack. You gave me my life back..."

"And now I'm gonna get you killed," he said, leaning his forehead against hers. "I can't bear it, Harley. It'll drive me mad…"

"Not such a bad thing to be," she whispered, kissing him. "You drove me crazy, after all."

He said nothing, holding her tightly. "How's your leg?" she asked.

"Fine," he muttered. "It's just a scratch."

"Let me see," she said. "I am a doctor, after all, even a currently unemployed one."

He obeyed, and she bent over the wound. "You were lucky – the bullet just grazed you," she said.

"You call this lucky?" he asked, gesturing around.

"Yes," she replied. "We're together. I think I'm the luckiest person in the world to have found you."

He squeezed her hand. "I guess I have had quite an influence on you, kid," he said, smiling. "Staying positive at a time like this…"

"Well, a wise man once told me that when you hit rock bottom, the only way you can go is up," said Harley.

"Well, we're definitely there," he agreed. "But I don't see any way out from this, let alone up."

She kissed him again. "We're together," she repeated. "That's all that matters."

He pulled her close, so close that she could barely breathe, but she didn't pull away, just held him tighter. They remained locked in each other's arms until the van came to a stop. The door opened, and Sal Valestra stood there. "We're here," he said, indicating the building in front of them. "Ace Chemicals."


	16. Chapter 16

"This factory was owned by a guy I used to know," said Salvatore Valestra, as his henchmen escorted Jack and Harley into the building. "Old business associate of mine. I gave him the money to start up this place, and he looked the other way whenever I had certain bodies to dispose of in his chemicals. We were thick as thieves…until he decided to stop paying me the percentage of profits he owed me," added Valestra, lighting up a cigarette. "Then we had a sorta falling out. Well, technically he fell into a vat of his own chemicals in what the police would later conclude was a tragic accident. But it wasn't. It was my punishment for him stabbing me in the back. And it's the same punishment you're gonna receive, Jack. Eventually," he added, exhaling the cigarette with an unpleasant grin as they climbed the steps which led to the platforms high above the vats of bubbling green chemicals.

"Hey boss, can I have the dame?" asked Buzz, who was holding Harley. "She is one hot piece."

"We'll all have her, Buzz," replied Valestra, taking another puff of his cigarette and smiling. "We'll take turns, and let Jack watch. Let him see his girl taken by a real man."

"Sal, please," begged Jack. "Do anything you want to me, but please don't hurt Harley. She's done nothing to deserve it."

"Well, people don't always get what they deserve, do they, Jack?" sighed Valestra. "Anyway, she hooked up with you – that's gotta deserve some punishment. If there's one thing I hate, it's a beautiful girl with bad taste. A beautiful girl stuck with some slob of a guy, when there are attractive guys like me and my boys out there. It doesn't make sense, a hot gal like that in love with a loser like you. And I'm a rational, orderly guy – I hate things that don't make sense."

He blew out a cloud of smoke. "Yep, an orderly, rational guy trying to run an orderly, rational city. That's what organized crime is, you know – it's order. All neat and tidy and planned out, with all the cogs running smoothly. But then you got morons like Dent getting too big for their boots, and trying to stir things up just to make a name for himself by trying to overhaul the system. And so you gotta regrettably resort to extreme measures – violence, chaos, all that kinda unpleasant stuff that disrupts order. But it has to be done sometimes, I'm afraid," he sighed. "Violence is often necessary to keep order, to keep people in line. All in a good cause, of course. The violence in your dame's case is gonna be for my own personal pleasure, after an unpleasant stint in jail. What's a better cause than that?" he asked, grinning horribly.

"If you spare Jack, I'll do anything you want," whispered Harley.

Valestra chuckled. "Well, that's a real nice offer, sweetheart," he said, tilting her chin up. "But why would I make a deal with you when I can just take what I want?"

"Because you don't know the kinda skills I have in the bedroom," she replied. "If you want me struggling and fighting you, fine, but I'm so much better when I'm into it. And I bet you wanna see that. I can promise you, you won't forget the experience."

Valestra laughed out loud. "I like her!" he exclaimed. "She's got guts! Oh, you're far too good for a loser like Jack, baby," he said, smiling at her. "But don't worry – you'll be rid of him soon."

"I told you, let him go, or the deal's off," retorted Harley.

"Harley, no!" Jack hissed. "I won't let you do this!"

"They're gonna take what they want either way, Jack," whispered Harley, trying to keep her voice level although she was shaking with fear. "At least I can save you this way. Assuming Mr. Valestra accepts the terms of my deal?" she asked, looking at him.

Valestra chuckled. "You know, I really do like you, sweetheart," he said, puffing out a cloud of smoke. "And I gotta say, I'm intrigued. I just gotta decide if I'm intrigued enough to let the guy who betrayed me go."

He looked to Jack, and smiled. "I've changed my mind, Napier. You _are_ a lucky man. Because here's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna not make you watch while we torture your girl. I'm gonna be kind and merciful, and let you go, just like she wants. I guess I'm just a nice guy like that."

"You are not going to touch her!" hissed Jack.

"Jack, no!" begged Harley. "Please don't antagonize him…"

"Listen to your girl, Jack," murmured Valestra, his eyes cold and glittering behind the clouds of smoke. "Don't you want me to be kind and merciful?"

"I want you to go to hell!" retorted Jack, spitting at Valestra.

Valestra calmly wiped the spit from his eye. "Well, that was a mistake, Jack," he murmured. "That was a big mistake. But since I'm such a nice guy, I'm still gonna let you go. Boys, release him," he said, snapping his fingers.

The henchmen obeyed, unhanding Jack, who immediately raced toward Valestra with his fist raised. Valestra calmly stepped out of the way at the last second, and Jack collided with the railing on the edge of the platform, the breath knocked from his body. He choked, gasping for breath, and then choked again as Valestra swung a pipe into the back of his knees. They buckled and Jack fell to the ground, to be met with another blow from the pipe smashing into his skull.

"Jack!" screamed Harley, trying to reach him, but she was held back firmly. Jack was struck again, a harsh blow that sent him off the platform. He clutched onto the railing, glancing down at the seething, bubbling green chemicals below him. And then he looked up, to see Sal Valestra standing above him, smiling and tapping the pipe into his hand.

"You know, I've always believed that death is the kindest release of all," he murmured. "Goodbye, Jack."

He slammed the pipe down on Jack's fingers, causing his hand to release the railing. Jack fell down into the acid below and was instantly swallowed from sight.

"Jack!" shrieked Harley in agony, tears rushing down her face. "No! Oh God, no!"

"Told you I was a merciful guy, sweetheart," said Valestra, turning to smile at her. "Nice and quick death for him, all things considered. I trust our deal is still in effect?"

"Never!" spat Harley. "I'll never do anything willingly with the man who killed the man I loved!"

Valestra shrugged. "Oh well. I did try to be civil. And as you told Jack, we'll be taking what we want either way. Bring her," he said, gesturing to two of his henchmen as they followed him into the manager's office.

"On the desk, hold her down," he said, pointing. Harley screamed and struggled, but she knew it was all in vain – the men were much stronger than her and they forced her down onto the desk, their grip like iron.

"I think I'm going to enjoy this," sighed Valestra, smiling as he removed his jacket.

Harley knew there was nothing she could do except pray for it to be quick, and that she would be killed swiftly after it was over. She shut her eyes with constant tears trailing from them, and prayed to be with Jack again soon.

She felt Valestra bending over her when suddenly, a strangled scream rang out, abruptly silenced by a gunshot.

"What the hell was that?" demanded Valestra, straightening up.

"I dunno, boss," said Buzz, glancing out the window. "One of the guys outside accidentally shot someone, maybe?"

"Well, go find out!" snapped Valestra. "Honestly, what the hell do I pay you for?"

"Chuckie, you go," snapped Buzz. "I don't wanna miss the entertainment."

Chuckie shrugged, heading for the door of the manager's office. There was about twenty seconds of silence, and then another strangled cry came, instantly followed by another shot.

"That's Chuckie!" exclaimed Buzz, racing to the door and throwing it open. He froze as an expression of horror twisted his face. "Holy shi…" he began, but never finished his expletive. Both Valestra and Harley just saw a burst of blood and brain explode from his skull as a bullet impacted it.

"What the…" began Valestra, but then he saw what had made Buzz freeze in horror as he looked at the figure standing in the doorway.

Harley saw it too, a tall, thin figure, a dark shadow with wild green eyes, dripping a glowing, green liquid. As the strange apparition stepped into the light, the horror intensified as the shadow revealed itself to be a man with bleached white skin, green hair, and a huge, terrible red-lipped smile, a smile half amused and half triumphant, and completely malignant.

"Not…possible…" gasped Valestra. "I just…killed you…"

The figure chuckled, a low, terrible sound. "Guess death wasn't quite the release you thought it would be, huh, Sally? But since you were so nice to me, I'll show you the same courtesy – that's only fair, isn't it?"

Before Valestra could react, the figure had raised his gun and fired three shots straight into Valestra's skull. As the body slumped to the ground, the figure kept firing into it, splattering blood all over himself and giggling uncontrollably.

"Quite the joke, really!" the figure chuckled. "Killing a guy and then having him instantly come back to life…quite the joke!"

Harley stared at the figure in astonishment. She recognized him despite his changed appearance, and yet there was something else inexplicably different about him now. "J…Jack?" she stammered.

He looked up at her. "Are you hurt?" he asked, quietly.

She shook her head. "Jack…baby…oh my God, what did he do to you?" she whispered, approaching him carefully and touching his bone white cheek.

In response, he shoved his mouth into hers, kissing her with the same passion, the same intensity that Jack had always kissed her with. She sobbed in relief and pulled him close – at least that hadn't changed.

They drew apart at last. "I couldn't let them hurt you," he whispered, stroking her hair back gently. "I had to come back to save you…maybe that's what did it. Maybe I'm not dead because…I had a reason to keep on living. And not even whatever nasty chemicals are in there could keep me from you."

"Whatever the reason, it's a miracle," she whispered, tears in her eyes. "It's a miracle!" she sobbed, hugging him fiercely.

He held her, shushing her. "Oh my God, Jack," she gasped, gazing at him with tears in her eyes. She carefully stroked back his green hair, examining his face.

"What is it, baby?" he asked, noticing the concern on her face.

"Nothing," she said. "Anyway, it'll probably wash off…"

"What will probably wash off?" he asked, touching his face. "What is it? Did the chemicals do something to my skin?"

"Yeah, but it's probably temporary, like I said," repeated Harley. "We'll get you home, get a shower…"

She trailed off as he stared at his hands, seemingly noticing that they were bone white for the first time. "Is…all my skin like this?" he murmured, holding up his hands to her.

She nodded slowly. "It's fine – I like pale guys…" she began, but he rolled up his sleeves, seeing that his arms were also dyed white. His panic grew as he hastily began unbuttoning his shirt, ripping it open and revealing that his chest too was unnaturally white.

"It's everywhere," he murmured, staring at his flesh in horror. "Everywhere…"

"Baby, it's nothing to worry about…" she began.

"Nothing to worry about?" he repeated. "Whatever was in that vat has dyed my skin! God knows what else it's done," he gasped, running his fingers through his hair. He paused as he noticed that one of his hairs had stuck to his hand, and that the hair was green in color.

"Harley, what's it done to me?" he gasped. "Tell me what it's done to me!"

"Your skin is white," said Harley, softly. "Your hair is green. And you've got…really red lips. But that's all superficial stuff, Jack, and we can fix it. If it's permanent, which I doubt, we can dye your hair, and give you some foundation for your face…"

"If it's affected the superficial stuff, it could have affected more," he murmured, looking around at the bodies of Valestra and Buzz. "I…shot those men," he said.

"Yeah, to protect me," said Harley. "Nobody could blame you, Jack…"

"I didn't even feel bad about it," he murmured.

"I don't think it's natural to feel bad about killing someone in self-defense, or the defense of someone you love…" began Harley.

"It is, though," he murmured. "You're a shrink – you know that. Killing someone…it's a big deal, even if it's done to save a life. People…people are usually traumatized by something like that…but I don't feel traumatized."

He grinned. "I feel happy," he murmured. "Happy. It was…almost comical, the looks on their faces when they saw me…the fear in their eyes…and then nothing, as I blew their brains out."

He chuckled. "They never saw it coming!" he giggled. "The punchline coming outta nowhere just like that - blammo!" he laughed, throwing his hands up. "They called me a loser, but I showed them who was the real loser in the end, didn't I, Harley?"

"Yeah, puddin', you did," said Harley, slowly.

"I never killed anyone before, Harley," he said. "I never realized…how much fun it could be. Way better than conning people and picking pockets. I just used to think…there was a line I couldn't cross. But I see now that that was stupid – it was just an imaginary line I made up based on nothing. Because of you, I crossed that line, and I realized how silly I was being. Taking someone's life is no worse than taking someone's wallet, not really. And when people…when people already treat you like you're worthless, like your life is meaningless, well, why not treat them with the same courtesy? It's not as if their opinion of me could get any lower, is it?" he chuckled.

"Jack…let's go home," said Harley, shutting her eyes and holding him tightly. "Let's go home and get away from this place and…things will all seem better, I'm sure."

"Things already seem better, baby," he murmured, kissing her. "Things seem great. We're together, and nothing is coming between us ever again."

Harley nodded, burying her face in his chest. But she couldn't help but feel a foreboding in her heart at the way Jack was talking. He was right – a line had definitely been crossed. And that imaginary line might just be the thing that came between them, unless Harley crossed it too.


	17. Chapter 17

They called a cab and headed back to Harley's apartment without saying a word. The cab driver looked suspiciously at Jack throughout the drive, and Harley hoped he didn't notice. It wouldn't exactly help his attitude if he thought he had to live the rest of his life with people staring at him like a freak. They arrived back in the apartment, and collapsed together into bed. Harley instantly dropped off to sleep, exhausted from the ordeal. She awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of running water – Jack was clearly in the shower.

"Jack?" she asked, sitting up and heading into the bathroom. Jack stood in the shower, stock still, with water running down his body, which was still the same, unnatural white color.

"Jack?" Harley repeated.

"It doesn't come off," he murmured, not turning around. "No matter how hard you scrub."

Harley approached him to see that he was obsessively scrubbing his chest with a sponge over and over again, so that the skin was starting to rub raw and turn red.

"Baby, don't…" she began soothingly, reaching for the sponge.

He pushed her gently away, still scrubbing. "It doesn't hurt, Harley," he whispered. "There's no more pain. I can't feel…anymore pain."

"Jack, you're gonna start bleeding…" began Harley.

"It doesn't hurt," he repeated, turning to face her. "Nothing hurts anymore."

Blood had started trickling down his chest – he slowly wiped it up with his finger and then stuck his finger into his mouth. "Tastes funny," he murmured. Then he grinned. "Tastes funny!" he exclaimed, bursting out laughing. "Because…because it's clown blood, so…so it tastes…funny!"

He laughed hysterically. "Baby, please calm down," whispered Harley. "You're…not acting like yourself."

"I guess you could say I'm acting kinda...funny!" chuckled Jack. He giggled madly in between drawing deep breaths. "I can't stop laughing," he whispered. "I can't…stop laughing!" He burst into hysterical laughter again.

"Jack, baby, come on," said Harley, turning off the shower before he could slip and fall. She shushed him, wrapping him in a towel and leading him back to the bedroom. "Come on, calm down. Everything is gonna be fine…"

"I feel…funny, Harley," he whispered. "No…no, not funny…I just don't feel like myself. I keep having these…visions, and these urges, remembering…what it was like to kill people…I…I wanna do it again."

"Why?" whispered Harley, stroking his hair back.

"It's funny," he whispered. "It's funny," he repeated, looking at her in total seriousness. "And right now, the world seems bleak and dark and hopeless, and I'd kill to laugh again. I'd kill…"

"But sweetheart, I'm here," murmured Harley. "How can the world seem bleak and dark and hopeless when I'm here? When your sunshine is here?"

"It's different, Harley," he murmured. "Everything…feels different now."

Harley stared at him. "You mean…you don't love me anymore?" she whispered.

"No," he murmured. "I don't. What I feel for you is…different."

Harley felt tears gather in her eyes. She couldn't respond to that – in the past few days, her life had turned completely upside down. She had lost everything, her job, her future…and now the man she loved, the man she had given up her job and her future for.

"Don't cry," he whispered, taking her face in his hands and gently wiping away her tears. "It's not different in a bad way. What I feel for you is…more than love. You _are_ my sunshine, and the air I breathe. But we don't love air. We don't even think about air – we just take it for granted because it's so essential. The things that are most important to us, the things we need to live, air, food, water…we take all those things for granted. We don't worship them, or say we love them. Maybe we should…but we don't. That's funny when you think about it…the things we'd die without, the most important things of all, the things we need to exist…and we barely acknowledge them. Or maybe that's what love is – something that you become so used to and so dependent upon that you don't even acknowledge it anymore. It's just second nature. It's not grand romantic gestures or undying vows. It doesn't need that. It's just always there when you need it, because maybe it knows you'll die without it. That's you, Harley."

He kissed her tenderly. "And maybe that's not love, but it's what I feel for you. I need you, because without the sun, things die. Maybe…maybe I should have died in that vat of chemicals, but I came back. I came back because I needed my sunshine to live. And I can't do it without you, Harley. Even though I'm a freak now, I need you to live."

"You're not a freak, Jack," she whispered.

"Trust me, I am," he murmured. "Even I think so. I feel like I'm a stranger to myself. I have these new thoughts and feelings and urges, and I don't think they're going to go away, Harley. Just like the color of my flesh, I think they're permanent."

"You don't know that," she said. "We can get you help. We can…have someone analyze what was in those chemicals, we can take you to see a psychiatrist, or I could treat you myself…"

"Now that wouldn't be very professional, would it?" he asked, grinning. "Sleeping with a patient? But maybe you don't have to worry about that – I doubt you'll be sleeping with me much when I look like this. Disfigured clown isn't exactly the height of sex appeal…"

In response, Harley kissed him, sliding her hand down his chest and into his towel. "I don't mind," she whispered.

He gently pushed her hand away. "Not tonight," he murmured. "I'm not in the mood. And I feel like…I might hurt you."

"Hurt me?" repeated Harley. "Why would you do that?"

"Because it might be funny," he replied, quietly. "I'm sorry, Harley. That's just what I feel like right now. Maybe things will seem better in the morning," he said, lying down.

Harley gazed at him as tears trailed down her face. "I don't understand what you're going through, Jack," she whispered. "And I want to. Please just talk to me…"

"There's nothing to talk about," he said. "I can't help how I feel, and talking about my feelings won't change them. You're a shrink – you of all people know talking never does any good. So why waste my time or yours? Goodnight, baby," he said, rolling over and pulling up the covers.

Harley lay down next to him. She tentatively cuddled against him, and he didn't draw away. "I love you," she whispered in his ear.

"I need you," he replied, reaching out a hand to squeeze hers. "Whatever happens…don't ever leave me, Harley."

"Never, baby," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut through her tears. "Never."


	18. Chapter 18

The phone rang early the next morning. Harley blearily opened her eyes and answered it. "Hello?"

"Harley, thank God!" exclaimed Pamela Isley's voice. "I tried calling you a hundred times yesterday! Dr. Crane called to tell me you were fired?"

"Oh…yeah, Pam," said Harley, rubbing her eyes. So much had happened since then that she had almost forgotten that she had been fired. "Yeah, it was…my fault…"

"Sounds like Jack's fault to me," snapped Isley.

"It takes two to tango, Pam," replied Harley. "I'm just as responsible as he is."

"Oh, come on, Harley," snapped Isley. "I know you. You've been nothing but serious and professional ever since we met, and the only way you'd be crazy enough to have sex with a patient in your office is because of that degenerate's influence. I hope you've dumped him at least – that's one good thing that can come of you being fired."

"Uh…no, Pam, I haven't," said Harley. "Something…something's happened…I can't leave him now."

"Oh my God, has he got you pregnant?" demanded Isley. "That son of a bitch! Don't worry, baby – you won't have to be stuck with his child or him. I know a clinic you can go to…"

"Pam, I'm not pregnant!" snapped Harley. "Something's happened to Jack! He's…he's…not himself. He was at the Valestra trial yesterday…"

"Was he killed?" asked Isley, trying to contain the excitement in her voice. "I hear a lot of people were - the DA's in critical condition, but appears to be putting up a fight. Not sure you could call him one of the lucky ones after what happened to his face, but at least he's not dead. But now that Jack is, I'm sure you can mourn him and move on…"

"No, Pam, he's not dead!" shouted Harley.

"Well, what has happened to him, then?" demanded Isley.

"I…don't know," said Harley, tears gathering in her eyes as she looked over at Jack, who was still sleeping. "I don't know!"

She burst into tears. "Aw, baby, come on," said Isley gently, instantly regretting being so harsh on her. "Whatever it is, it can't be that bad."

"Pam…I need your help," stammered Harley through her tears.

"Of course, baby, anything," said Isley.

"Jack's…not well," said Harley, slowly. "He had an…accident, and…fell into some chemicals and…now he's changed. I need you to analyze a sample of his blood for me. Can I bring him in today? It's…an emergency."

"Well, you know my specialty is plants, Harley…" began Isley.

"But you know chemistry…couldn't you tell me what's in his blood? And if it can be…fixed somehow?" stammered Harley. "I mean, you research chemicals, right? You can find out…what stuff was in those vats, and how to get rid of it."

Isley sighed. "Sure, bring him in. Even if I don't know how to neutralize them, if I get the results for you, maybe you can give them to someone who does."

"Thanks, Pam," said Harley. "We'll be there shortly."

She hung up the phone and then gently shook Jack. "Baby? C'mon, we gotta get up and get dressed. We're gonna go see Dr. Isley. You remember Dr. Isley? She's gonna help you."

"That would seem out of character," retorted Jack, keeping his eyes shut. "She never wanted to help me before – she loathes me, if I remember correctly."

"That was before…" began Harley.

"Before what?" he asked, opening his eyes. "Before I became a freak, a victim? And now people just have to pity me, is that it? I think I'd rather be hated than pitied – at least people hate me for the things I've done, not for something someone else has done to me."

"I think she's just trying to help, Jack," said Harley.

"Well, isn't that magnanimous of her?" sneered Jack. "I don't want or need her help."

"I do," said Harley. "Do this for me? Please?"

She gazed at him, and he sighed. "All right," he muttered, standing up to get dressed. "But don't expect me to behave."

They arrived at Dr. Isley's office to see that she had company. "Harley, you remember Dr. Woodrue, my head of research?" asked Isley, gesturing at her companion.

"Jason, please," said Woodrue, smiling charmingly at them and extending his hand. "I hope our research facilities here can be of some help to you both. It's certainly an…unusual case you've presented us with," he said, studying Jack.

"I'm not a case," retorted Jack. "And frankly, I'm a little sick of being thought of as one."

"I'm sorry if my manners are lacking – I'm used to being around plants who don't take offense at anything I say!" laughed Woodrue.

"It's fine, Jason," said Isley, smiling at him. "Mr. Napier's always been an unpleasant person, and I can see his accident hasn't improved him at all."

"Oh, I think it's improved me in a lotta ways," said Jack, smiling at her. "Of course the physical transformation isn't ideal, but mentally…I see things a lot more clearly now. You know, I used to try to be charming and nice to everyone, and just tried to ignore those who hated me. But some people just hate you for who you are, and there's no point in being charming or nice to them. From now on, I'm just gonna hate 'em back. So in that spirit, Dr. Isley, I feel I should tell you that I'm only here because Harley wants me to be, and not because I have any faith in your abilities to help me in the slightest. I don't want or need your help."

"Well, I guess that makes me the bigger person," retorted Isley. "Because I'm going to help you anyway."

"I'll leave you Dr. Isley's capable hands," said Woodrue, heading for the door. "Let me know when you have the chemical breakdown of the sample, Pam, and I'll take a look at it."

"Thanks, Jason," said Isley. He left the room. "Roll up your sleeve, Mr. Napier," said Isley, reaching for a syringe. "I'm just going to take a blood sample…"

"I hope you didn't judge Harley for sleeping with me when you're the one doing your head of research," interrupted Jack.

Isley glared at him. "Well, first of all, we don't engage in intimate relations during work hours," she retorted. "Our relationship at work is strictly professional, which is maybe something you should have considered before you got Harley fired. Anyway, how did you know? Did Harley tell you?"

"I know the same way I know he's cheating on you," retorted Jack.

"Really?" asked Isley, rolling her eyes. "And how do you know that?"

"You can smell his cologne on your receptionist," replied Jack. "Just like you can smell it on you."

Isley snorted. "Jason's not cheating on me," she said. "He's not a sleazeball like you are."

"I guess it takes one to know one," replied Jack. "Anyway, I might be a criminal, but I would never cheat on Harley. But then she's not a harsh, judgmental bitch…ow!" he exclaimed, as Isley injected the needle at that moment.

"Sorry about the little prick," she said. "But I suspect it suits you, if you know what I mean."

"Pam, Jack, stop it," said Harley. "We shouldn't be fighting amongst ourselves – we should be united in trying to help Jack get better."

"I'm fine, Harley," snapped Jack, rolling down his sleeve as Isley took the syringe of blood and put a drop on a slide. "This is all a pointless waste of time. Though maybe if it results in Dr. Isley accepting the truth about her boyfriend's infidelity, then it'll all be worth it just to see the look on her face."

"Yes, Harley, I can certainly see why you're staying in a relationship with this clown-faced freak," snapped Isley, putting the slide onto the microscope and glancing into it. "It's not like an attractive, intelligent girl like you could do any better."

"He's like this because of me," whispered Harley. "If I hadn't been at the trial, if I hadn't made him attack Sal…"

"If you hadn't been at the trial, I'd be dead now," interrupted Jack. "You saved my life, Harley. Both times," he said, reaching for her hand. "I came back to life for you, and I'm sorry about the trauma you had to go through for me. I'm sorry that you have to put up with me like this."

"So am I," agreed Isley, adjusting the focus on the microscope and taking some notes. "If there isn't any way to fix this, a sweet, sensitive woman like Harley might feel obligated to stay with you forever. She'd feel too guilty to dump you when she thinks you're not well and that you need her. But it would be a shame for her to waste her life attached to some hideous criminal nutcase."

"I suppose it's better than her wasting her life attaching herself to some philandering doctor," retorted Jack.

"I think you're just jealous of Jason because he's smart and handsome, and you're some disfigured petty criminal," snapped Isley.

"Oh, not petty anymore, toots," replied Jack, smiling at her. "I've killed people. Several people. Shot 'em right through the head. You ever seen what happens when you shoot someone through the head? At close range, the skull basically explodes – it's like popping a water balloon, only instead of water, it's bits of blood and brain and…"

"Jack, please," interrupted Harley, shutting her eyes. "I…I don't wanna remember it."

She felt his hand gently squeeze her own. "It was beautiful, in its way," he murmured. "I wish you could see it like that, Harley."

"I wish I could too," she murmured.

"Have you two had sex since the incident?" asked Isley abruptly.

"Um…no," said Harley, surprised. "Why?"

"Well, there's definitely something off about his blood," said Isley, looking through the microscope. "Some kinda mutation or virus or something. I don't know what it is exactly, but until you find out, I wouldn't exchange bodily fluids of any kind. It might be able to be transmitted through the bloodstream somehow, and the last thing you want is to end up like him, Harley."

"And…what if we don't find out what it is?" asked Harley, slowly. "What if it's something nobody's ever seen before? What do we do then?"

"Well, I certainly wouldn't risk my health for him," retorted Isley. "I'd recommend abstaining. Which of course is no way for a healthy, normal person to live for the rest of their life, so really the best course, objectively, is for you to terminate your relationship. I mean, without a sex life, you wouldn't really be his girlfriend anyway, just his nurse. And you shouldn't throw your life away like that, Harley, taking care of some ungrateful man and getting nothing in return."

Harley said nothing, tears springing to her eyes. "But…I love him."

"And that's very sweet," said Isley, nodding. "And I admire your loyalty and willingness to see past his deformity. But he's a sick man, Harley. And as romantic as it sounds to live a self-sacrificing life, a life lived for the man you love, in reality, it's not a fulfilling life. It won't make you happy in the real world."

She stood up. "Anyway, I'll just get Jason in here for a second opinion."

She opened the door. "Kelly, can you please find Dr. Woodrue…"

She trailed off to see that the reception desk was empty, and her secretary gone. She sighed. "Fine, I'll find him myself," she muttered, storming out of the room and leaving Jack and Harley alone.

"Are you ok?" he asked, gently.

"No," she murmured. "Are you?"

"No," he replied. "Fate worse than death, having to keep my hands off you," he added with a grin.

"It's not funny, Jack," she whispered.

"It is if you have a twisted sense of humor," he replied, shrugging. "Our love can survive anything, except we're not allowed to express our love physically. I think there's kinda an irony there…"

"It's not funny, Jack!" she shrieked, bursting into tears. He held her gently, shushing her, as she sobbed.

After awhile, Isley returned alone, looking thin-lipped and pale. She went over to her notebook and took out the page she had made notes on, handing it to Harley.

"Jason's…unavailable, so you should probably take that to another doctor, along with the sample," she said, putting the slide in a small case and handing it to her. "Just to confirm my findings. I'm sorry I couldn't be more helpful, but I need to be alone now. I'll see you soon, Harley."

"Are you ok, Pam?" asked Harley, concerned.

"I'm fine," she said, in a forced light tone.

The door to her office banged open. "Pam, I swear to God, she means nothing to me…" began Dr. Woodrue.

"Oooh, I love it when I'm right!" chuckled Jack. "I told you so, I told you so, I told you so! Jason and Kelly sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G…"

"Get out!" shrieked Isley. "All of you! Out!"

She seized a vial and threw it at Woodrue, who raced out the door. Harley and Jack followed quickly, leaving Isley to her rage and eventual sobbing breakdown.


	19. Chapter 19

Harley and Jack returned to her apartment. They hadn't spoken a word on the ride home, but as Jack shut the door, he said, "I think we need to talk."

"Yes," said Harley, sitting down on the sofa. "We do."

"Or…I could just go now," he said.

"Go?" she repeated. "Where?"

"Does it matter?" he asked. "I just need to get out of your life."

"Jack, don't say things like that," said Harley. "You're all I have left. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you…"

"And I can't make you suffer by staying," he said. "Dr. Isley may be a woman of utterly terrible taste, but she's right. As noble as the idea of staying with me and sacrificing yourself for love is, it won't make you happy. And I can't bear to be the cause of your unhappiness. So I'll go."

"Why don't you let me worry about what makes me happy?" asked Harley.

"So you're saying me torturing you will make you happy?" he asked.

"It won't be torture, Jack…" began Harley.

"It will be for me," he interrupted. "I love you, Harley. And knowing I can't ever…show you that, having to look at you every day knowing that you want more, but I can't ever give it to you…hell, it would be funny if it was happening to anyone else but me," he added with a smile. "But I'm not going to ruin your life like that…"

"It's too late for that, Jack," she said, quietly. "You've already…ruined my life, to use your term," she said, gazing up at him. "Or at least, changed it forever. I can't go back to being the person I was without you. Without you in my life, I'd have no reason to live anymore. And maybe that's not normal or healthy, but I don't care. I fought for you. I fought against everyone who told me I was crazy to want you, Pam and Johnny and everyone I worked with. Except Dolores," she added. "I even fought myself. I gave up my career to be with you. And I sure as hell am not going to stop fighting for you. Not now when you need me the most."

"Harley, I just want you to see reason…" he began.

"You mean like you did when you risked your life promising to testify against Sal Valestra just to stay out of prison and see me again?" she asked. "Are you seriously saying that if our situations were reversed, you'd just leave me? I don't think you would."

"Harley, listen to me," he said, laying his hands on her shoulders. "It's for your own good that I leave you. I'm…different now. Not just physically but…mentally. I have these…these urges and…one day I will hurt you. I know it. And I don't want to be a monster who hurts the woman he loves. But I also know I can't control him."

"You think I can't take a little pain?" she asked.

"I don't want you to," he replied. "I want you to let me go."

Harley smiled sadly. "So you think you can succeed where Pam and Johnny have failed, huh? Not even you can change my mind about you, Jack. Not with all your charm and persuasion."

He looked at her, and then suddenly smiled back. "God, I did a good job, didn't I?" he chuckled. "You know, Dr. Crane always said I would ruin your life by dragging you down with me, and what do you know, he was right! He was right!"

He began laughing hysterically and when he finally stopped, he smiled at her again. "Well, don't say I didn't warn you!" he chuckled. "We got anything to eat? I'm starved!"

He headed off to the kitchen, whistling. Harley buried her face in her hands, trying to figure out what to do next. She needed to take Jack to another doctor, to find out what was wrong with him somehow…

He re-entered the room with a bag of popcorn and flicked on the TV.

"District Attorney Harvey Dent has woken up today, but so far his doctors have informed us that he has not responded to any questions asked of him. It is believed that he is still in a state of shock, and Gotham General stresses that, although conscious, his condition is still critical. It is unknown whether Mr. Dent will ever fully recover – the damage to his face is extensive and covers approximately fifty percent of it…"

Jack chuckled again. "Guess he really is two-faced now, huh, sweets?" he laughed, tossing a piece of popcorn into the air and catching it with his mouth.

"It's not funny, Jack," murmured Harley.

"Oh, you're always saying that," he retorted. "I think it's funny. Maybe you just don't have a sense of humor."

He giggled. "I think it's hysterical, actually. Harvey did nothing but insult me and call me a loser even when he depended on me to win his case for him. Well, who's the loser now? At least I still got my face."

He munched the popcorn thoughtfully. "In fact, he's a loser, Dr. Isley's a loser because she lost her cheating boyfriend…the only one who ain't a loser is me!" he exclaimed, beaming. "Because I still got my Harley girl! She's sticking by my side even though it's gonna make her miserable, isn't that right, toots?"

"That's right, Jack," she murmured.

"Oh, don't call me that, baby," he said. "Call me one of your nicknames, my sexy shrink."

"Ok, puddin'," she said.

He chuckled. "I was hoping you'd pick that one," he murmured. "A ridiculous name for a ridiculous man. Because that's what I am – ridiculous. That's what they all called me, Dent and Crane and Isley and everyone – a loser, a pathetic man, a clown…and now I am!" he laughed. "I don't know why I put up with it before," he murmured, frowning suddenly. "I don't know why I let people talk to me like that, treating me like I was dirt. People like Dent, who needed me, talking down to me like I was nothing…and maybe I was, to put up with it. But I won't put up with it anymore. Not anymore."

He grinned, a wide, terrifying smile that showed his teeth bright white against his red lips, like the bared jaws of an animal. "And with a face like that…he'll thank me. Well, at least he would if he was capable of communicating, that is!" he laughed.

"Thank you for what, Jack?" asked Harley.

"Nothing for you to worry your pretty head about," he said, patting her. "Oh, Harley, don't look so concerned," he said, frowning at her. "I hate it when you're not happy. That's why I want to leave – I can't bear to see you like this forever. You should be smiling, baby. Always smiling. You know, it was your smile that I first fell in love with. Or at least, the idea of your smile anyway. When we met, you looked like you do now, like you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. I just wanted to make you happy again. And look what a mess I've made of that."

He kissed her. "No more, Harley," he said. "No more. I ain't making anyone unhappy anymore. I'm gonna spread smiles and laughter and nothing but. And if anyone frowns at me, or reminds me how miserable I'm making you…well, I'll just have to make 'em smile, won't I?" he asked, grinning.

"Jack, why don't we go to bed?" asked Harley, quietly.

He chuckled. "Now that's not a good idea, is it, toots? No, if you're tired, you go to bed, and I'll sleep out here on the sofa."

"I don't want to live like that, Jack," she said, gently.

"Would you rather have my disease?" he asked.

She stared at him. "Yes," she said.

He shook his head. "Not yet," he murmured. "Not yet, Harley. But maybe someday soon, when you're forced to cross the line, like I was…"

He trailed off, and then kissed her tenderly. "It'll be a great day, sweetheart," he whispered. "Night, Harley," he said, drawing away and turning his attention back to the TV.

Harley stood up and headed into the bedroom, hearing Jack cackling to himself as he ate his popcorn. She knew she needed to get him to another doctor, make another appointment…but she was too depressed to do anything but curl up in bed alone and pull the covers over her head. She still heard Jack laughing in the living room, a hysterical laugh which varied in pitch and tone, and wondered if she would ever get used to hearing it.

…

Harley awoke to utter darkness. She checked the clock – it was nearly midnight. She must have drifted off, she thought, standing up and heading into the living room. Jack's laughter had stopped, and she assumed he was asleep.

She was shocked to see that the TV was still running, but the sofa was empty. "Jack?" she called, looking around. "Jack?"

She searched the entire apartment before panicking, but it was empty. Jack was gone.


	20. Chapter 20

"He's just in here, Mr. Wayne," said the night nurse, opening the door to Harvey Dent's room for Bruce Wayne.

"Thank you," said Bruce, nodding at her as he took a seat by his friend's bed. "You can leave us."

The nurse nodded, shutting the door. "Harvey, can you hear me?" asked Bruce.

Dent was staring at the wall, and turned to face him. One half of his face was heavily bandaged, and he stared blankly at Bruce. "Visiting hours are over, aren't they, Bruce?" he murmured.

"Well, they make an exception for the rich and famous," replied Bruce with a smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Numb," replied Dent. "The drugs are doing a good job of that. At least, I think it's the drugs."

He turned to face him. "Do we…know how it looks yet?" he asked, gesturing to his face.

"Well, probably like nothing a good plastic surgeon can't fix," said Bruce, encouragingly. "My current girlfriend could probably give you the number of a good one."

"And then what?" asked Dent, softly. "Back to work? Back to fighting, over and over again, for this stinking city until it destroys the rest of me along with my face? And for what, Bruce?" he demanded, suddenly angry. "For one less mob boss out there running free, when there's just another out there waiting to take his place?! For more pointless arrests and trials that never see convictions?! Valestra had people working in the system – that's the only way he could have attacked the courtroom without any warning! City hall has been infiltrated by the mob, and God knows how many other places have been too! How do you keep fighting when the odds are that high against you? And what's the point? Nothing changes, and people just get hurt."

He raised a hand to his damaged face. "Harvey, you've done enough for this city," said Bruce, soothingly. "Just focus on getting better, and don't worry about going back to work if you don't feel up to it. You're right – you've been seriously wounded in the fight. So maybe it's time someone else took it up…"

"Why? So they can end up like me because of some pointless gesture?" demanded Dent. "Face it, Bruce. No one person can change the world. No matter how much money or power or influence you have, there will always be someone else who will have more. You think you can change things, but the world is hard and cold and inflexible…like a coin. You see the pretty, shiny side that lures you in, but flip it over, and you see its dark and ugly side, tarnished and permanent. And there's nothing you can do to make it clean again. Absolutely nothing."

"Harvey, you're still in shock," said Bruce. "I didn't mean for my visit to agitate you – I just wanted to make sure you were ok. The media was saying you hadn't spoken…"

"I hadn't," he interrupted. "I've been thinking hard about this stuff ever since I woke up. You're the first person I've told about it. You're my friend, and I want you to hear the truth. I want to make sure you don't make the same mistakes I do, whatever you feel. I know…you've been looking for ways to clean up the city because of what happened to your parents, and I know how enthusiastically you always backed my campaigns for DA and believed in me. But I'm telling you to stop that now. Believing in changing things…it just causes nothing but trouble."

"I don't believe that, Harvey," said Bruce.

Dent shrugged. "Ok. Just wait until something like this happens to you. And it will, Bruce, if you keep fighting. Because that's what happens in fights. People get hurt."

"Yeah, but that's half the fun," said a voice from the doorway. "The humor in slapstick is watching people get hurt. But then I don't imagine you have much of a sense of humor, Harv."

Bruce turned to see a figure standing in the doorway. "How did you get in here?" he demanded.

"I'm afraid the night nurse had an…unfortunate accident," chuckled the figure, entering the room. "She fell onto my knife, five or six times. Terrible tragedy, but that's what she gets for being clumsy."

Bruce stood up, but the figure pulled out a gun. "You're not going anywhere, rich boy," he said, smiling a huge, white smile. "I came here to kill Harvey Dent, but I've got no problem taking you down with him."

"Who the hell are you?" demanded Bruce.

"Oh, nobody you know," replied the man. "But I think Harvey will recognize me."

He removed his hat and turned to face Dent. Bruce stared in astonishment at the man's bone white face and huge, red lipped smile. With his shocking green hair, he resembled nothing so much as a clown, but the striking thing was, it didn't look like makeup.

"Jack Napier?" gasped Dent. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Well, neither of us came outta our encounter with Sal Valestra looking too good," said Jack, shrugging. "I can't say which one of us was luckier, really. In a way, I'm glad. You were so sure of yourself, so confident you were gonna put him away for good, and you didn't care who you had to hurt to do that. And now you've paid the price for your overconfidence. We both have."

"So you want to kill me as some twisted form of vengeance because of what happened to you?" asked Dent.

"No," retorted Jack. "I want to kill you because of how you treated me. From the moment we met, you looked on me with contempt and disdain, while still needing to use me for your ridiculous made-up testimony against Sal. I was so vital to your little plan, and you couldn't even treat me like a decent human being, like your equal. Well, now we really are equals, aren't we, Harv? Two disfigured freaks, thanks to your little crusade to change the world. Your ego didn't just destroy things for yourself, but for everyone around you. So I'm gonna destroy you. I think that's what they call justice. Anyway, I've been itching to kill someone ever since I shot Sal Valestra and his men. I just keep replaying it over and over in my mind…how beautiful it was…and how funny! If you see people being killed in movies or TV, you think it's kinda a bad, serious thing, but the reality is, it's hilarious! Just thinking about it, I can't stop laughing!"

He began giggling uncontrollably. "And isn't that funny when you think about it?" he chuckled. "You made this whole elaborate plan to put Sal away for good, and I did it with just the pull of a trigger. I honestly don't know why people are so against killing – it's simple and effective and so useful for comedy purposes! Violence always is – I don't know why it's taken me that long to see it. I guess that's why they call it a punchline, huh?" he laughed.

"If you're going to kill me, get on with it," snapped Dent. "If you think I have any desire to live like this, you're completely delusional. You'll be doing me a favor, actually. I'm tired of fighting, so just end it and let me rest."

"You don't tell me what to do anymore, Harvey," murmured Jack. "Nobody tells me what to do anymore. I'll kill you, but first I want you to feel what I feel. See, my girl, the one I agreed to do everything for, the one I sold out Sal to get outta jail for, the one I risked my life testifying for…I can't be with her anymore. She still loves me, even like this, but I have to leave her to prevent her from being hurt. I have to lose her…so I'm gonna make you a loser too. I'm gonna make you lose someone you care about, and when you've fully appreciated the pain and guilt of that loss, then I'm gonna kill you. See, that's the punchline to the joke that is life – death is far from the worst thing that can happen to you," he said with a smile.

He suddenly turned and fired his gun at Bruce. The bullet hit him in the stomach, and he choked, falling to his knees.

"Bruce!" shouted Dent, struggling to get over to him, but Jack held him down.

"No, no, no, just watch," he whispered, smiling. "Watch him bleed out…slowly. Watch that pool of blood get bigger and bigger and spread out, like red paint on a white canvas. See, it was too quick last time for Sal and the others, but they were gonna hurt my girl. But this…this time it's in slow motion, and I want to watch it happen. I want to watch the light gradually fade from his eyes, I want to watch him realize that he's going to die. It's really the funniest sight, there at the end. The funniest sight…"

"Jack!" shouted a voice. He looked up to see Harley standing in the doorway, staring at the scene in horror. "Jack, oh my God, what have you done?!" she cried, racing into the room and over to Bruce.

"Harley, what are you doing here?" Jack asked, more puzzled than anything else. "How did you know…"

"The news hasn't been playing anything else but Dent's condition, and you were talking earlier about him thanking you, so I thought I'd see if you'd visited," said Harley. "I didn't expect to find dead staff and…"

She trailed off, trying to stem the flow of blood with one hand and reaching for her cell phone with the other. "Hello, I'm in Gotham General, and I need help. A man's been shot and staff are dead…do I know who did it?"

Her eyes flicked over to Jack, who was still staring at her in surprise. "That's not important now – just get over here!" she said, hanging up the phone and using both hands to try and stem Bruce's wound.

"It's ok, it's gonna be ok," she murmured. "I'm a doctor…"

She looked up at Jack again. "You'd better go, puddin'," she whispered. "The cops will be here any minute."

"Harley, I…" he began.

"What?" she demanded.

He stared at her. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," she said. "I always will. Now go, baby, please, before they find you."

He nodded, and bent down to kiss her. "Goodbye," he whispered.

And then he was gone, out the door, leaving Harley alone with Bruce and Dent to await the police.


	21. Chapter 21

"And you have no idea of Mr. Napier's whereabouts at the present time?" asked Commissioner Gordon.

"No," said Harley, quietly. "That night at the hospital was the last time I saw him."

Gordon sighed. "That's too bad. Now that Mr. Wayne's recovered, he's offered a substantial reward for anyone who can bring Napier in. I think he's taking being shot fairly personally, and you can't blame him."

"How's Mr. Dent?" asked Harley.

"He's refusing to see anyone, or get any help," said Gordon. "I don't know what the end result of that will be, but it won't be any good."

He leaned forward. "If Mr. Napier does try to contact you, Dr. Quinzel, you will let us know, won't you? We don't know if he's killed again yet, but he's very likely to at some point. It's for his own protection, and for the protection of every innocent person in this town, that he's put away for good. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes," said Harley. "It's just…hard to think about him being locked away forever…"

"He's not the man you loved anymore, Dr. Quinzel," interrupted Gordon.

"Maybe not," agreed Harley. "But I still love him. And he…loves me. That's why he left."

She stood up suddenly. "If you'll excuse me, Commissioner, I need to be alone," she said.

"Of course, Dr. Quinzel," he said. "Remember to come to me if you receive any word from him."

"Yes, I…I will," stammered Harley. She headed out of the station and back to her apartment. She tried calling Dr. Isley again, but she wasn't answering her phone or her door. Harley hadn't spoken to her since that day in her office, and she really hoped she hadn't done anything rash.

Harley put down the phone with a sigh, and it suddenly rang. She saw the number and frowned in surprise, then answered it. "Johnny?" she said.

"Harley, you'll…need to come to Arkham at once," said Dr. Crane's voice on the other end of the line.

"What? Why?" asked Harley.

"Because I wanna see you, toots," murmured a familiar voice suddenly.

"Jack!" exclaimed Harley, gripping the phone tightly. "What are you doing? Are you ok?"

"Come to Arkham, sweetheart," he murmured. "And you'll see."

The phone went dead. Harley didn't waste a second, racing out of her apartment and hastily traveling the once familiar route to Arkham Asylum.

…

"You can have a seat while we wait, Dr. Crane," said Jack, hanging up the phone and gesturing with his gun at the therapy couch.

"What do you want, Mr. Napier?" asked Crane.

"I wanna try my hand at shrinking," said Jack, taking a seat at Crane's desk. "All those times you analyzed me, now I wanna try analyzing you. See how you like it when the shoe's on the other foot."

"There's just one problem with that – you're crazy and I'm not," retorted Crane.

Jack smiled. "No? Well, maybe you just haven't found the courage to be crazy yet. That's what happened to me – I had this little accident, and suddenly, I'm free. I spent most of my life in prison – not a literal one, I was too good a criminal for that!" he chuckled. "No, I was in a prison of my mind. I took abuse and put up with crap all because something in my mind told me to take it. But now that something in my mind has snapped – that little lock on my prison cell has broken. And I'm free. That's all the chemicals did to me, really – they gave me the courage to be free. And I'm not going back into any prison. Not a real or a metaphorical one."

"You don't think you'll be sent to prison for this?" asked Crane.

"What, for analyzing you?" chuckled Jack. "Not hardly! Do they send you people to prison for analyzing people? They probably should, in your case."

"I was thinking more about for threatening me with a gun," retorted Crane. "How did you even get in here?"

Jack chuckled. "C'mon, you think all the times I came here that I don't know how to sneak in now? Dolores is regular as clockwork – she leaves reception to go get some coffee at around noon. And I may have a fairly striking appearance, but people don't seem to notice your face when you're wearing a guard uniform - all they see is the uniform. I mean, if people knew where the body of the guy I stole this uniform from was hidden, then yeah, I'd probably be going to prison. But I hid him pretty well, and anyway, that's not how today is gonna end."

"How is today going to end?" asked Crane. "Are you intending to kill me?"

"No, that's too good for you, Johnny," said Jack. "I'd prefer to let you keep on living alone. That's what you're afraid of, isn't it? See, I can read you like an open book. You once called me a thief and a parasite. Well, what you are is a coward, pure and simple."

Crane snorted. "You think it isn't obvious?" pressed Jack. "How afraid you are? Of everything?"

"Mr. Napier, what could I possibly have to be afraid of?" demanded Crane.

"Oh, where do I start?" chuckled Jack. "You're afraid of being alone, but you're too cowardly to do anything about it, because you're afraid of being rejected. You had plenty of opportunities to tell Harley how you felt about her before I even came into the picture, but did you? No, you were afraid. This cozy life you've built for yourself, it's based entirely on fear. You were the smart kid in school, right? The nerdy one who got bullied a lot? You told yourself that the bullies were just jealous of you, but deep down, you were afraid that there was some other reason. That there was something wrong with you. And that fear and insecurity stayed with you throughout school, and into college. You think anyone who spends a decade at college getting a doctorate is full of self-confidence? No, they're riddled with doubt, and hoping that this academic achievement will somehow prove to the world how smart they are, and how much better they are than everyone else. You think pretty highly of your intelligence, Dr. Crane, but that's only because you think so very little of everything else about you. You're afraid other people see you as you see yourself, which is why you have your haughty air, to keep people at a distance so they don't see you as anything else but an intimidating, intelligent man. But that kinda personality is never gonna make women interested in you, and so ironically, your fear is making your greatest fear of dying alone come true. I think that's pretty funny, Dr. Crane. But then I think most things are funny these days."

"I admire your attempt at armchair psychology," retorted Crane.

"Are you telling me I'm wrong?" asked Jack, chuckling. "I don't think I am. Here's the thing – some people call me crazy now, but I don't feel crazy. I feel like things have never been clearer. The man I used to be, he was derided and insulted and called a loser, and he just took it. And maybe that's why I have this funny urge to kill now. Maybe that urge is perfectly natural after a lifetime of contempt from people. People like you, who think they're better than me just because they got a fancy degree. What a ridiculous way to view the world!" he chuckled. "It's just funny to me now! Because I'm not the joke here – you are. You and everyone else who thinks you're so superior, you're the joke because you can't see how meaningless and insignificant you really are. You're the joke, and I'm…the joker."

He beamed suddenly. "The Joker!" he repeated. "I like it! Oh, I've been going crazy trying to think up a new moniker for me since my rebirth. That's what I'm trying to look at it as – not an unfortunate accident, but a blessing in disguise. Wouldn't wanna be thought of as a victim, after all, and the difference between a victim and a victor is all in the attitude."

"Why do you want Harley to come here?" asked Crane.

Jack shrugged. "I miss her, for one thing. As for the other thing…you'll just have to wait and see, Johnny. But I think it will pique your professional interest if nothing else. Harley wants to be with me, and I want to be with her, but I can't until she understands. So I'm gonna help her understand."

"Understand what?" asked Crane.

"The same thing Sal Valestra helped me understand," said Jack. "That death is one big joke, and that line we think we can't cross is all in our imaginations. Once Harley crosses it, once we share the same form of insanity…we can be together."

"Harley's not as deluded as you think she is," retorted Crane. "She's probably called the police already. She knows you're insane and dangerous, and she's not going to show up here to face you without protection."

Jack grinned. "I guess we'll have to see, won't we? And hey, while we wait, why don't we play a little game? I'm gonna call this game 'Eeny Meeny Miny Moe a Colleague' and it's about as simple as it sounds. Just pick a random colleague of yours to join us in here and call them on the internal line."

Crane stared at him. "Call them," said Jack, gesturing at him with the gun. "Now."

Crane carefully picked up the telephone. "Not Dolores," said Jack suddenly. "Someone else."

Crane sighed, punching in a random number. "Hello, Dr. Bartholomew? I need you to come into my office for a moment, please. Thank you."

He hung up the phone. "Have a seat," said Jack, nodding at the sofa.

Crane sighed again. "I don't know what kind of stupid game this is…" he began, but the door opened at that moment.

"What is it, Dr. Crane…" began Dr. Bartholomew, but he was cut off as Jack shot him suddenly in the head. Jack cackled madly as the body fell to the ground, and Crane leapt back in shock and horror.

"I love it!" giggled Jack. "Let's play again!"

"You're…insane!" gasped Crane.

"Probably," agreed Jack, nodding. "But at least I'm funny."

"Dr. Crane, I heard a shot…" began another doctor, racing into the room. Jack instantly shot him too, giggling.

"We don't even have to call 'em now – this is fun!" he chuckled. "I'm kinda hoping Harley gets here soon, and your colleagues are really hoping so they can stop playing the game! Wait until Harley sees all the fun we've been having – she'll just plotz!"


	22. Chapter 22

Harley threw open the doors to Arkham Asylum, which appeared to be in total chaos.

"Harley!" exclaimed Dolores, racing over to her. "Thank God you've come! He's in Dr. Crane's office and demanding to see you, or he'll kill more people…"

"Oh God, Jack!" gasped Harley, racing down the hall.

"Baby, we were hoping you'd get here soon!" exclaimed Jack as she ran into the room to see carnage everywhere. "Arkham's running outta doctors! You'd think they'd have learned not to come in after the second or third one, but I guess shrinks ain't the brightest. Still, I hope someone's called the police by now – probably Dolores since she's the only resourceful one here."

"Jack, what on earth have you done?" gasped Harley. "Johnny, are you ok?" she asked, noticing Dr. Crane.

He nodded. "As well as…can be expected," he stammered.

"Jack, why are you doing this?" demanded Harley.

Jack shrugged. "It's fun, I guess," he said. "Besides, I think it's the only way."

"The only way to do what?" asked Harley.

They heard police sirens coming from outside, and Jack chuckled. "Good old Dolores!" he exclaimed. "I knew she wouldn't disappoint me when she heard shots being fired. Got a good head on her shoulders, that one. See, I ran from the cops last time, sweets. But I'm not gonna do that again. I'm gonna turn myself in."

"But…Jack…they'll lock you away forever for this!" gasped Harley. "Bruce Wayne is gonna make sure you never see the outside of a cell again after you shot him…"

"Oh, I'm not letting them take me alive, pumpkin!" chuckled Jack. "Here," he said, handing her his gun. "Hold this for me, will you, sweets? I'm gonna take on the cops with this," he said, pulling out a knife.

"Jack…they'll gun you down," stammered Harley. "Do you want to die?"

He shook his head slowly. "Not particularly," he murmured. "You have to trust me, Harley. Just like I trust you," he said, pressing the gun into her hands and smiling at her.

"Jack…Jack, come back! Jack!" screamed Harley, as he strolled casually out of the office and into the lobby. Four police officers stood there, all pointing guns at him.

"Drop your weapon and put your hands in the air!" one of them shouted.

"Nope, sorry, boys!" said Jack, holding up the knife. "You'll have to pry it outta my cold, dead hands!"

"We're counting to three, Napier, and then we're opening fire!" shouted the officer. "One…"

Jack whistled, glancing casually at his watch.

"Two…" said the officer, as the police cocked their guns. Jack twirled the knife in his hand like a baton, and then glanced over his shoulder, winking at Harley.

And suddenly Harley saw, in her mind's eyes, the police gunning down the man she loved. She saw him being riddled with bullet holes, his beautiful body destroyed and draining blood as he sank to the ground. She saw herself cradling him tightly as the breath left his body and the fire in his gorgeous green eyes extinguished forever…

And she knew she could never let that happen. No matter what, she couldn't let that vision become a reality. And so she did the only thing she could think of. She opened fire.

She had shot two of the police officers before they could react, or figure out where the shots were coming from. She shot the third one in the head just as they had figured it out, leaving only the fourth, who pointed his gun at her, but suddenly had a knife buried in his throat courtesy of Jack.

Jack withdrew the blade slowly, and then turned to Harley. "How do you feel?" he murmured, approaching her.

Harley was shaking from head to toe, and dropped the gun with a clatter. He embraced her tightly, kissing the top of her head. "I'm so proud of you, Harley," he murmured. "And it's all right now, isn't it? You understand now, don't you, how silly it all is, all this ridiculous morality? When it comes down to it, the only thing that matters is the thing that makes you happy. You understand that, don't you? How funny the world is, to pretend like anything else matters. Everything else is just one big joke."

He tilted her chin up. "Why aren't you laughing?" he whispered.

Harley stared at him, stared back into the beautiful, wild green eyes of the man she loved madly, of the man she had literally given up everything for. And she lost herself in them.

She suddenly began laughing, wildly and hysterically, clutching Jack for support. He joined in, their laughter merging in pitch and tone.

He picked her up like a child. "C'mon, pooh, let's go someplace more private where we can appreciate the joke," he murmured. "And before more cops come to spoil the mood."

"Anything you say, Mr. J," she purred, cuddling against him.

"Mr. J, huh?" he chuckled, carrying her out the door. "I like it!"

 **Three Months Later**

"Hi, Dr. Leland, I'm Dolores," said the receptionist, meeting Dr. Joan Leland at the entrance to Arkham Asylum. "We're really glad you could join us on such short notice – we've been managing without a head doctor ever since…the incident…"

"Please don't remind me," said Dr. Leland, shuddering. "The only reason I took this job is because of the substantial pay rise. And it had to be substantial after what happened here."

"Well, security's been tightened, as you can see," said Dolores, gesturing around at the armed guards. "We're pretty sure nothing like that can ever happen again. Anyway, let me show you to your office."

"Is everyone here managing ok after what happened?" asked Dr. Leland. "I mean…mentally."

"We get by, for the most part," said Dolores. "I think it affected poor Dr. Crane a lot more than anyone though – he's been getting steadily worse. He has this kinda paranoia now about everything, which I guess is understandable."

"Sure," said Dr. Leland, nodding. "Is he seeing anyone for therapy?"

"He insists he's fine," said Dolores. "So there's nothing anybody can do to force him. But he's not fine – he's got this wild look in his eye that gets worse and worse. You see it in the inmates here sometimes…of course a lot of them have had similar traumatic experiences."

"Yes," sighed Dr. Leland, removing a file from her briefcase. "Let's see, we've got the former DA, Mr. Dent, under supervision after he murdered someone after flipping a coin to decide their fate?"

"Yeah, that was weird," sighed Dolores. "Never thought of Mr. Dent as being homicidal, and he still doesn't take responsibility for the murder. He claims it was fate. His friend Bruce Wayne comes to visit him sometimes, and if you ask me, there's a man who's on the verge of doing something completely insane. But you can't arrest people for prospective insanity, unfortunately."

"No," agreed Dr. Leland. "Anyway, Mr. Wayne's lawyers would have this place shut down. Still, if he ever comes here for treatment, he'll be welcomed with open arms. First seeing his parents murdered at such a young age, and then being shot by this Joker person…well, that's gotta affect somebody."

She sighed, studying the file. "And let's see, we've got Dr. Pamela Isley, who murdered her head of research with deadly plant spores and now insists on being called Poison Ivy?"

"Yeah, she's a sad case," said Dolores, nodding. "Always seemed so sane and rational. But then she was friends with…Dr. Quinzel, and she always seemed that way too."

"You knew her?" asked Dr. Leland. "Did you know Jack Napier?"

Dolores nodded again. "Yes. But I don't know the man he is today, this Joker or whatever he's calling himself. The Jack I knew…and the Dr. Quinzel I knew…they wouldn't have hurt anyone. And now look at them."

"Trauma can drive people to act in strange ways," said Dr. Leland.

"It's not trauma," murmured Dolores. "I think it's…some kind of mad love. They don't see anyone else as being important, or worthy of living, except each other. They see everyone else as being nothing else but punchlines to their violent jokes, hence the clown costumes. It's just an extremist form of romantic love, in a way. Complete and total obsession to the detriment of everything else."

"How touching," sighed Dr. Leland. "They'll be brought here, I suppose?"

"If they're ever caught," agreed Dolores, nodding. "But the police haven't been able to do that so far. But maybe this Batman guy can – takes a lunatic to catch a lunatic, right?"

"God, I hope not," sighed Dr. Leland. "You don't really want to start a new career and a new life in a town that's full of costumed lunatics running amok. It's not exactly the most promising place to lay down your roots. And yet, here I am, just lucky enough to be doing just that."

"I think you'll get used to the madness pretty quick," said Dolores. "We all have to, one way or another."

She turned and headed out the door. "Welcome to Gotham."

 **The End**


End file.
